Word to the Chic, Max isn't Meek!
by SecretGeneration
Summary: When Max Caulfield starts to attend Blackwell Academy, she runs into a familiar face. Victoria Chase. Given their one and only troubling previous encounter, and their opposing backgrounds, will love bloom?
1. Chapter 1

**I'm new to this fandom. But the moment I made Max comfort Victoria Chase on that step, I was chasefield trash! Do. You. Hear. Me? Lol. Hope you enjoy and I would love feedback!**

 **Disclaimer: Mentions of bulimia.**

* * *

It's not like Max Caulfield's some extraverted social butterfly. She's easily drained, selective and cautious about who gets her energy. Even still, the pact-like silence that's following her around campus is startling.

She's been enrolled three days. An outsider looking in, this time not by choice. Maybe that's what bothers her – that she hasn't gotten chance to reject Blackwell's elitist bullshit before it can reject her.

And she would have, in her own reserved way.

She doesn't keep her finger on the pulse of all the latest fashion trends, nor does she cruise Arcadia Bay's streets in the kind of car that frequents rap videos.

Her shapeless graphic t-shirts and battered hatchback suit her fine.

She doesn't raise her hand in class and enunciate long-winded answers to showcase how knowledgeable she is, and she doesn't care to theorize about why Abella Couture collapsed on stage during her Super Bowl performance.

Her mumbled answers are to the point, and who even is Abella Couture?

She doesn't.

They do.

And she knows: that's why silence is her companion.

Not that she has some vendetta against silence. It's serene. Insights live there. Reflection. Possibility too. Observations dismantled and reassembled in infinite ways there.

Yes, these are the states that Max prefers. That's not what this silence is. This is Blackwell's own brand: uppity, scornful, and cliquey. Just as well. She prefers to dip her toe into social wells only when they're devoid of plastic. Only when there's depth to them and meaningful life roams abundant.

Unlikely at Blackwell Academy.

 _Wet toes are gross anyway_ , Max decides as she pushes her dorm room door in shut behind her. Her back sags against it. She closes her eyes, blindly tosses her bag to the foot of her bed. Listens to it slowly sag on its side, books, tablet, and cell phone slipping from its tattered mouth.

Her need to face the here and now is masochistic. Still it lifts Max's eyelids. She peers around her room. _Her room_ , she scoffs. Nothing about Blackwell Academy is her. Nothing about this side of Arcadia Bay is her.

She misses Aurora Creek, the rundown musty bookstore that would swallow her for, it seems, days at a time. She misses Colton's Record Store, covets that time has rubbed away most of the establishment's letters and _she's_ old enough to remember when they winked in the distance. She got swept into the whirlwind that is Chloe Price in the punk rock aisle at age thirteen.

Within ten minutes Max was ghost-white and wearing handcuffs in the store's back because, "don't lie Chloe. I _saw_ you stuffing CD's down your buddy's pants. Little shmucks."

The guy in the duck costume. The one who stands on Pacing Ave flapping his wings and encouraging passersby to toss money into his tin of nickels. For all the lulz, Max misses him too.

She misses the undercurrent of unity that colors her memories of Aurora Creek's people. The kind of unity that pricks the thumb and threads people together via mutual struggle. The kind that nods at its neighbor and says, _'I understand. We're in this together._ '

Max isn't deluded enough to pretend it's _all_ prayer circles and kumbayas. Aurora Creek people don't have much. Never have. And that spurs all sorts of theft-related violent crime, high school students met each morning by hard-faced security guards wielding handheld body scanners. But the majority? The majority of the dilapidated town's residents, despite outside consensus deeming them vermin, are kind-hearted, compassionate, inclusive people.

Max really misses that.

She slumps down onto her bed and reaches down by her lopsided bag, fingertips roaming its spilled guts until they clasp her cell phone.

 **4 Messages.**

Max already knows who they're from.

 **Mom** : **How are Mark Jefferson's classes, hun? I'm so proud of you for getting into that fancy school! Brush shoulders with the offspring of anyone influential yet? Enjoying yourself so far? xxxx**

"What's not to enjoy?" Max grumbles, swiping the message out of sight.

Chloe's name sits next to the three remaining bolded envelope icons. Max chews the inside of her lip.

 **Chloe** : **Wot up? Y you ghosting? Message me or I'll think you've been bitten n turned into a plastic, in which case there's no hope for u n we can't be friends no mo'.**

Max eases into a smirk, amused by the next to life-like voice that always plays in her head whenever she reads Chloe's texts.

 **Chloe** : **Still no message huh? U act like I can't drive the hour n a half it'll take me to get to Blackwell, n drag u for ignoring me. Message when u get outta prison. I mean class ;)**

 **Chloe** : **Ur not gonna believe this! I still haven't heard from u! Crazy right? This NEVER happens! This is SO out of the ordinary I think I'm gonna have to call the cops to report u missing.**

The sarcasm is palpable. Still Max almost drops her phone fumbling to dial her best friend's number, drumming an antsy foot against the wall whilst it rings.

If anyone knows Chloe, perhaps better than anyone, it's Max. Calling the police and wasting their time simply to get Max's attention isn't out of the realm of possibilities...

"Oh, well how thoughtful of you to grace me with a phone call."

Max's lips slant into a contrite crooked smile. She groans. "I'm sorry?"

"Sorry's accidentally dropping my snow globe. Not ignoring my calls and messages for, like, a century."

Suitably shamed, Max nods at her bed sheets, picking at the fabric. She doesn't have an explanation other than the fact that sometimes she just needs to be inside of her own head, dealing with things her own way. In her own space. And as much as she loves Chloe, the blue-haired rebel's personality isn't always conducive to introspection.

" _So_? What's the story down there in plasticsville?" Chloe urges, like the _least_ Max can do is download her on the latest happenings.

"No story, other than I'm apparently invisible."

"It's the mom jeans fo' sho," Chloe snickers, to which Max grins but says nothing. "Hey – are you actually bothered?"

"Not really? I mean, you know I'm not all that big on people. It's just... weird. It's like that episode of Black Mirror – you know, the one where you can block people in real life and all you see is this impersonal grey silhouette instead of a person? Even the staff are standoffish."

"Even my step-ass?"

Max shrugs a shoulder. "Even David, yeah."

"I'm not surprised. He's hella temperamental. More recently 'cause mom hasn't been giving him any. Says she won't again unless he gets the foul stink that is his man mayo checked out by a doctor."

Max's eyes pop wide, her entire frame tensing. "Chloe," she groans, sagging into a facepalm.

"What? Let's not act like I didn't find that video on your phone."

Aaand it gets worse.

"Oh! Oh fff! I'm gonna, yeah, I'm gonna come," Chloe whines. Her breath pours into Max's ear in heavy, ragged, all too realistic pants then.

Max doesn't know where to put her face. Her flaming, and no doubt red, face.

"Come on, you know it's all good Max. Hey, at least you have stellar taste in porn. I'm _still_ impressed! That was one steamy vid. I –"

"Can we talk about something else – _anything_ else?"

"She doesn't wanna talk about her porn stash ladies and gents. What are you gonna do?" Chloe pantomimes. "Anyway, fuck David. Fuck 'em all. Take it as a compliment that they look straight through you! They're all fucking insane and we're the only normal ones. Haven't I always told you that? I'd be worried if they loved you."

"Uh, thanks Chloe."

"Any time, Maximus! So... did you, uh, did you see Rachel yet?"

Ah. The enigmatic Rachel Amber. The only 'plastic,' to ever make a positive impression on Chloe.

Max comes into a knowing smirk. "No."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Chloe clears her throat. "...Okay."

"Alrighty then."

"Oh _come on_ , Max!" Chloe finally growls.

Max is happy to oblige.

"I haven't had any mutual classes with her, but I've only been here three days so maybe that'll change. If there's something you want me to tell her –"

"No!" Chloe shrieks. Max listens to her draw in a composing breath and release it. "Just, she's the only one you can trust down there. I sent her a text asking her to look out for you."

"She's doing a fantastic job," comes Max's dry quip.

"Yeah well, she didn't respond. Kinda like you ignoring me _all_ decade!"

"I guess you just have that effect on women," Max teases, hoping that her best friend is in a place with this where she can appreciate the humor.

The small mirthful hum that plays in her ear tells her that Chloe is.

"Sassy Max will always be my number one wifey."

"Oh she's the only Max. All other incarnations are just masks I wear to get me through each day unharmed."

Their laughter winds together, rising up before fluttering to a natural end.

"Seriously though, I've sorta learned that it's a thing to let people think you're more reserved than you are. When they think they have more resolve than you, that their voice is more significant, they reveal themselves. It's, I don't know, interesting to watch."

"Hella true. But I couldn't be reserved if I tried? I only have one setting, sweet cheeks, and that's bull in a China shop."

"And there's nothing wrong with that my dear."

"I'm gonna get her back, Max," Chloe promises, suddenly quiet and vulnerable, and nothing like the bull that she's just tagged herself as. "I'm gonna get Rachel back."

"I have no doubt that you will," Max tells her. She lets the soft reassurance sit between them for a moment, and then: "Are you sure you don't want me to do some meddling – talk to her, speed things up?"

"No way! She thinks I fucked that girl! She thinks I'd do that to her!" Chloe barks, and it sounds accusatory, but Max knows it's not about them. "I'm as pissed at her as she is at me 'cause I never did anything to make her think I was some shady player, you know? She doesn't trust me. I don't know why and it pisses me off!"

Max knows why. Chloe is, well... Chloe. Impulsive, passionate, flirtatious, dangerous. Desirable. She has this quality about her. This unattainability that, of course, just makes girls want to tame her, even if just for one night. She's magnetic enough to attract beautiful girls in droves, arrogant enough to know it, and smooth enough to capitalize, which is an understandable concern for anyone dating her. Stripped to the bones though, Chloe is as loyal as they come.

But Rachel, apparently, doesn't know that.

"Listen, I'm gonna go," Chloe says, recovered from her outburst, at least on the surface. "I got some potent Purple Haze here. It's giving me seduction eyes, begging to be smoked, and since I have no one to blaze it with..." she trails playfully.

Max smiles, remembering all the times that she's gotten high with her best friend. Hours upon hours spent in their hazy cocoon of smoke contemplating the universe and picking apart the human psyche. Taking pictures, jamming to music, and dissolving into fits of giggles over absolutely nothing.

"Enjoy it Chloe."

"Booya! I'm out."

And with that, silence rushes back in around Max.

She sits up and puts her cellphone on her pillow, leaning back against the wall that shoulders her bed. The guitar across the room catches her awareness. She absently taps her knee.

It's been a while since –

"Hello?"

Max's fingers still about her denim-clad kneecap. She looks to her door, daring it to rumble with another soft knock, to sound with another hesitant –

"Hello?"

Yep. This is definitely happening. Someone is knocking, chasing the silence into the shadows.

Max scoots forward and stands, crossing the small distance until she's twisting the door handle down and opening the door just enough to see the entirety of her visitor – an unassuming kind-faced girl with mouse-blonde hair, who's pressing her fingertips together like she isn't sure what to do with her hands.

With a tilt of the head, Max realizes that she recognizes her.

"Hi," the girl says through a smile that favors a grimace. She begins to thumb the wooden cross that rests at her sternum, her other hand falling to her side. "You're new here, right?"

"Guilty as charged," Max says, friendly with it.

"I'm Kate." The girl swallows. So hard that the subsequent, "Marsh," hits the air hoarse. "I sit just ahead of you in Mr. Jefferson's class, and" – She hesitantly juts her thumb over her shoulder – "I-I room just a couple doors down."

Max thrums with the need to soothe the girl's obvious nerves, to let her know that she needn't be nervous about talking to her – that she's just Max. So she projects a kind smile, opens her door a crack wider, and consciously softens her voice when she says, "well it's nice to meet you, Kate. I'm Max. It's so thoughtful that you'd come and say hi."

"Oh, it's really nothing," Kate rushes out, another pained smile flitting through her expression.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

"You're the first student to talk to me, which, it's kinda strange but not really at all shocking."

Kate looks off, awkwardly clears her throat. "Right."

Max frowns and they both just stand there.

"So uh, Kate, other than saying hi what brings you to my humble residence?"

Kate's thumb halts its glide along her cross pendant. She releases the religious symbol altogether, eyes suddenly downcast, shoulders wooden. "Um, you're new and don't know anyone, and we thought it'd be a nice gesture to invite you to have lunch with us."

An uneasy tension forms in Max's chest. "We?" She briefly pokes her head around the doorframe to survey the corridor that forms their dorm floor.

There isn't a soul around but Kate and herself, which leaves the question, "who's, uh, who's we?"

Kate sucks in a breath, subtly rolls her shoulders back in an attempt at self-composure, and lifts her head. Their eyes meet. Her lips bend around another shaky smile that does little to quell Max's growing unease. "The Vortex Club members."

"Vortex Club? I'm, uh, not sure I understand."

And Max doesn't. Not really. She's seen countless different posters boasting the Vortex Club's hypnotic prowess all over campus, but she hasn't paid them enough mind to know what the Vortex Club actually is. She regrets that now, because the members of said club have summoned her, and she has no idea whether that's good or bad.

But if Kate's demeanor is any indication –

"Look, Kate, thanks for the invite. But I'm not really much of a people person." That sounds awful even to Max's ears. She groans, gently chuckling, "could you sound any more like a serial killer, Max? No but, I just wanna hang out in my room today. So maybe some other time."

 _Like once I've had a chance to look into this Vortex Club and its members_.

Kate's not taking the polite decline well. Her face says so. It's blanched, the ghostly skin between her eyebrows knitting in frown. She takes her hand to the back of her neck and rubs.

Max can almost feel her mind racing a million miles a minute.

"Um, Kate? Is everything okay?"

The rubbing stops sharp. "Just... p-please? Come and have lunch with us," she begs, more so with haunting eyes than a desperate tone, and for the first time Max registers the tired almost bloodshot quality that webs the white of Kate's otherwise kind eyes.

Something is wrong.

That much is clear.

The invitation to lunch with the Vortex Club has to be some sort of setup, Max rationalizes. A lure to a prank. Hazing for the new girl. She's seen Mean Girls and other movies like it. To be bumped all the way up from being invisible to an invitation to eat with Blackwell's most advertised club?

Max can just see herself; strolling along only for a bucket of paint to splatter her, even spotting her tongue for extra points. Cue the catty snickers, recording cell phones, and camera flashes. Followed by the torrent of taunts that are sure to haunt her on social media forever.

"I'm sorry, Kate, but –"

An electronic bleep sounds. Kate flinches but stuffs a shaky hand into her pocket to retrieve the phone. The screen's stark light bludgeons her vision.

And the message...

 **Queen V: WTF is taking so long? Bet you wouldn't keep Jesus waiting like this, all the Bible humping you do. Move it Mary Magdalene! Or I drop the video today!**

The reality of Victoria's threat reaches Kate's bone marrow, and every other part of her that's supposed to be sacred. Her body's not used to sharing space with a fear like this, so it trembles, stomach twisting in preparation to purge what it understands to be poison.

"Are you, Kate, are you –"

Max's lips glob shut at the abrupt movement that sees Kate snap her head up.

Pained blue eyes press her.

She presses back with a worried stare and reaches for the girl's shoulder, stopping short when Kate flinches away. "Hey, you can talk to me. What's going on?"

"Please Max. It's nothing sinister. I-It's just, the president of the Vortex Club. She..." Kate's throat bobs and she winces as though she's swallowed broken glass. "As the president she wants to fulfil her duties, make sure you're feeling included here at Blackwell. Nothing more or less. I promise."

Max trusts few. But for some reason she trusts Kate not to lead her to the gallows.

Maybe she's a fool.

She guesses she's about to find out.

"Okay, uh... lead the way."

Kate's smile may flutter small but it's big in relief.

"I mean, who wears cashmere with leather like that? And those boots. Oh my God, those boots were a drop-down-fall-out mess!"

"God, Vic, do you really have to be such a viper all the time? You _seriously_ need to get laid."

Victoria's apparel-related disgust falls away to an upbeat smile that holds bad intentions. Her eyes find the Tupperware tub resting on the grass by Imogen's shin.

Lightly seasoned carrot and celery sticks.

Barely any of it touched.

"Well it looks like your rabbit food intake quota's been filled for the day." She shrugs her wrist out before herself with distinct Chase poise, a glance at her watch. "Oh and look! It's purge o'clock! Wouldn't want your stomach to miss its appointment with the nearest toilet bowl. Would we now Imy?"

Imogen freezes, and Taylor and Courtney snicker between small bites of the pasta they're sharing.

"Hey, come on Victoria," Hayden sighs.

She doesn't spare him a glance, keeps pinning Imogen with her Stepford smile until the thin girl snatches up her belongings, stands, and then storms off.

Zachary's churning jaw slows around the block of chocolate he's just tossed into his mouth, and unease takes his palm to the back of his neck, where he kneads. "Um, that wasn't cool V."

"Really? 'Cause I could swear I'm the one who decides what's cool and what's not around here."

"But –"

" _Imogen_ ," Victoria interrupts with a patronizing pat to Zachary's knee, "hasn't eaten a calorie in days. I don't see why _I_ should reap the backlash. She's hashtag hangry, and I am _nobody's_ hashtag punch bag."

Laughing, Courtney shoots her a hi-five. "Girl, you _better_ pour that good hot tea."

"Sip sip slurp," Taylor cosigns cattily. "She snapped at me yesterday over nothing and I was just like, someone get this slut a McChicken Sandwich, Jesus."

"Um, V-Vic... Victoria?"

 _Ugh! There's only one loser at Blackwell who stutters my name so pathetically._

"Certainly took your sweet time. I thought you'd gotten lost," Victoria complains, glaring up at Kate over her shoulder.

And that's when she sees Max.

Stood behind Kate looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

Their eyes latch.

"...Max," she murmurs, heart galloping.

Taylor's suspicious gaze bounces between them. "You guys know each other?"

The question reminds Victoria that other people are a thing, and she snaps back into gear, petting down the swooping side bang to her stylish blonde pixie cut as she abandons her seat on the grass to stand tall. She gestures toward Max. "Guys, um, this is Max. Blackwell's newest student."

A chorus of chill _what ups_ and dubious _heys_ sound.

"Hey," Max responds around a quick thin smile.

Victoria twists to look at her. They're face to face now, tension mounting as she searches Max's eyes for anything that might guide her through this ambush. But there's no life float there.

She swallows hard and buries her apprehension, because she's a Chase and crumbling in public is unacceptable.

Putting a hand to her hip, Victoria slips into character. "Such a small world, right Max?" she chuckles girlishly. "I've been absent the last few days due to family matters and didn't get a chance to review your file myself, otherwise I would have known that _you_ were the newbie. No harm done. Come," she chimes. "Lemme show you around campus."

Max hesitates.

Then she remembers that she has questions.

Questions that only Victoria can answer.

It turns out Victoria's room is directly opposite Max's.

 _221_ : _Don't wait for opportunity. Create it_.

Inside's a neat affair of exquisite furnishings, pretty things, and unlikely anime figurines.

But it works.

And it works well.

The door swings shut under Victoria's firm shove.

Now it's just the two of them. _And_ the garishly dressed elephant that they're both hesitant to address.

Something about the immaculately made bed feels too intimate, so Max zips her hoodie to her chin and sits on the sofa.

Slightly breathless, Victoria rounds on her. "Max, what are you doing here?"

On the coffee table, amidst multiple magazines and other trinkets, rests a Hasselblad X1D. It caught Max's eye the second she entered the room.

She nods at the expensive camera, answers, "mostly taking pictures. Or trying to."

Confusion reduces Victoria's eyes to squints before she shakes her head. "No, I mean what are you doing here at Blackwell Academy?"

Although it sounds like one, it's not a dig. They both know it's almost unheard of for Aurora Creek teens to attend schools like this one.

Still Max can't help but feel offense. "Scholarship, believe it or not."

Victoria sighs raggedly. "Come on Max, that's not how I meant it." She pauses. "Wait, scholarships don't allow mid-course enrollment except in the event of exceptional circumstances."

"I guess someone thought I was exceptional."

Victoria agrees with someone. Max is pretty fucking exceptional.

But she isn't about to say that.

Instead she glances at her Hasselblad. Max said she was here _mostly taking pictures_... which has to mean –

"You're taking Mark Jefferson's photography class."

"I am."

 _Great. One more person I have to worry about upstaging if I want to win the Everyday Heroes contest._

The moment Victoria thinks it she tells herself she ain't shit, because the uncomfortable history she has with Max, coupled with the current atmosphere between them, should be eclipsing the bullshit pressure that she's putting on herself to win the promotional picture showcase spot at San Francisco's upscale Zietgiest Gallery.

 _Get it the fuck together dumbass_.

"I take Jefferson's class too. He's unbelievably amazing and I'm down to bear his children whenever he wants. "

Max dips her head into a slow nod and leaves her contribution at that.

Victoria sighs.

"I... didn't know you were into photography."

"Love it," Max says with the enthusiasm of a dead plant.

"At the carnival you didn't mention –" Victoria stops sharp, cursing her lips for running ahead of her frantic thoughts.

For verbalizing that word. Carnival.

She hugs her own midsection and casts a distant look towards the printer on her desk.

Max sees the tilt-a-whirl's whizzing lights echo in her faraway gaze, that hypnotic fire unfurling from the mouths of bare-chested performers. Cotton candy is heavy in Victoria's nostrils.

Max knows because it's heavy in her own.

"What really happened that night?" she asks, barely above a rasp.

Victoria clicks her tongue as if inconvenienced, and she is. She was expecting an interesting lunch wherein she would, subtly of course, brief the new girl on how things worked at Blackwell. On who was running things.

Her.

But here she is, scared and nervous and frantic inside... and maybe a little on the outside too.

"Victoria," Max presses. "I need to know."

Victoria needs to know things too, abruptly asks, "did you go to the cops?"

"Maybe I will," Max strong-arms, though her tone is distinctly harmless, which only lends the threat more bite.

Victoria can't help but smirk, begrudging respect twinkling in her eye. "God, you're already gorgeous; you had to be savvy too? Because _that's_ totally fair on the rest of us." She stares at Max for a long moment, torturing herself with the attraction she feels. And when she can't take anymore: "Ugh. Where's an ounce of weed, a good OVA, and a free Saturday night when you need it?"

The fact that Victoria hasn't doubled down on the story she gave Max the morning after the carnival is unsettling.

It's ammunition though, and Max is going to use it.

"I asked what happened. Why aren't you doubling down on what you already told me if what you told me is what happened?"

"No, you asked me what _really_ happened, which implies you don't believe what I already told you," Victoria snaps.

"Why would I believe you? We met _one_ time before today."

That's true, Victoria reluctantly supposes. But she's still affronted. Even if Max is right to disbelieve the story she gave her.

"I want you to say what happened. From start to finish for the people in the back," Max requests, soft and reasonable for the sake of lubricating Victoria's lips.

"It's what I already told you. We were chilling at the carnival, then you started acting weird," Victoria explains. "I couldn't find your obnoxious blue-haired friend, and you were starting to get loud. Everyone was gawking. So I drove us back to one of my apartments and you slept it off. End of."

Except it's not.

"Nathan – I think his name was. Your friend," Max recalls, and Victoria's eyes narrow. "He handed us beers."

"Lots of people did. _So_?"

Max chooses to ignore Victoria's attitude. She's onto something here and she isn't about to let herself be sidetracked. "No, he's the only person I took a beer from. Well, from Chloe too. But he was the only stranger."

"What are you insinuating?"

"You know already, Victoria."

"No I don't. Why don't you say it," Victoria goads, raised to come out swinging whenever backed into a corner.

"Okay. I will. That beer was either already spiked, or you spiked it when we left Nathan to go sit in the alcohol tent."

"Oh really? _I_ spiked your drink?" Victoria scoffs off of a humorless laugh. "There were plenty of people walking by us Max! Any one of them could've slipped you something!"

"Your friend. Nathan. He seemed. _Seems_ ," Max amends, because that kind of crazy doesn't go away overnight, "a little impulsive. Unstable. And the way he looked at me. Through me." She shudders.

"You got up from our table to buy that crying kid cotton candy, and then you went off to help find his parents. It must've happened then."

"With you sitting there?"

"It wasn't like I was sat guarding your beer, Max. I texted back and forth with friends, like: _yeah, Aurora Creek is Arcadia Bay's Bronx, but this carnival's lit. You shoulda came_. And once that was done I got roped into a convo with some of the other people in the tent. It only takes a second."

Max sighs, tired of being made to chase her own tail. She rubs a palm over her face, resets her energy levels, and when she comes out from behind her hand she's ready to try again. "Just now I said maybe I'll go to the cops, and you seemed to think that was savvy of me."

"Savvy of you to threaten it to get me talking, yeah. I didn't think you had that kind of streak in you. You were so nice and reserved at the carnival. Like this pretty jewelry box I wanted to unlock." Victoria rolls her eyes at herself. "I just, I was impressed, hence the _God;_ _as well as sweet and beautiful_ , _she's shrewd and will totally cut a bitch_."

"Please Victoria. I need to know if something bad happened to me that night. I'm tired of wondering."

 _No. No. No. Don't look at me like that!_

"I – nothing bad happened to you, Max. I promise."

It's the truth.

Victoria just wishes it was that simple.

"Did Nathan drug me?"

The leap's too big. Victoria can't reconcile her compassion with the lie she wants to tell quickly enough. So she freezes, saying nothing as her knuckles whiten around her grip on the edge of the cabinet that she's taken to leaning into.

Max rubs at her face again, this time with both palms and more rigor. "Wow," she mutters. "The silence says it all."

"It isn't what you think."

"Really Victoria? Why else do sleazy entitled rich kids drug girls?"

"He –"

"Was it even random? Or was it calculated? 'cause I can totally see your _friend_ thinking, _oh hey let me go to Aurora Creek and traumatize girls down there; the police won't take their word against mine_."

"Jesus, just listen to me for a – just. Just listen!"

"I am."

Victoria steadies herself on a slow nasal intake of breath. "He wasn't trying to rape you. Like I would've allowed _that_ to go down. He was just – he knew that I, that I... that I liked you and knows that I'm... fucking useless with girls."

"And _drugging me_ was his solution?"

"I didn't know how to talk to you without embarrassing myself, and you were super quiet. I was freaking," Victoria rushes out.

 _Kinda like now._

"Are you seriously taking up for him?"

"No, but I know him! In his own warped way he was just trying to..." Victoria sighs, realizing that nothing she says will reach Max's ears fondly.

"I can't believe there are people who think being a good wingman means drugging the target. Wow."

 _Only entitled rich folks_.

"It's not like you came to any harm."

An incredulous gust of breath puffs past Max lips. " _I_ didn't know that. I still don't, Victoria. I only remember bits and pieces, and I only have your word that nothing happened."

"And my word's good. I drove us back to my apartment, sent that Chloe girl you were with at the carnival a parting text from your phone, and then I took good care of you."

 _How good_?

It's not the first time the disturbing thought that Victoria might've taken advantage of her whilst she was out of it crosses Max's mind.

"You were sort of..." She pauses, takes a deep breath, and considers her words. "At the carnival your nervous chatty energy made it kind of obvious that you might like me, and while I was nice I wasn't... responsive the way you might've wanted?"

Victoria reads the accusation right away. "Fuck you Max."

"Did you?"

"Fuck. You. Do I look like I go around getting friends to drug girls who clearly aren't interested so that they'll drop their panties for me?"

Max's blank stare feels like an elbow to the stomach.

" _Hello_? I asked you a question! What, because I have money that automatically means I live by Satan's moral code?"

"I remember us kissing."

 _Fuck_!

Victoria thrusts her hands to her hips and puffs a frustrated breath up at the ceiling because, yeah, this is really happening. Max actually thinks she had her drugged so that she could take advantage of her, and now she's looking at that stupid fucking kiss through that lens.

 _Great_.

"Victoria," Max prods. "We kissed. I didn't remember right away. It came back to me days later but I wasn't sure if it was real."

Victoria blows out a hard sharp breath. "Look, you were all giggly okay? Giggling into my neck and smushing your nose against mine, and your God damn hand was on my thigh and..."

"What?"

"You kissed me and... for a second I... I kissed back."

"...Okay."

Victoria looks away. Mumbles, "not my finest moment."

"The next morning you told me nothing happened, but that wasn't true. We kissed."

"Because nothing _did_ happen. Not really. I shut the kiss down, made you drink water, laid you down on the sofa, and then went to the bathroom to confront Nathan on the phone. So quit looking at me like I'm some predator who doesn't know how to check her libido in fucked up situations!" There's a hard edge to Victoria's voice now.

A hard edge that Max might understand, but doesn't appreciate.

"So," she asserts with some attitude, "you went to the bathroom to confront Nathan, but how'd you just automatically know he was the one who drugged me?"

"Nathan always has the good shit. It wasn't hard to work out. I also had like this mini meltdown, told him I was struggling to talk to you - that you could literally have anybody you wanted, and that I didn't even know if you were into girls, much less _me_. His response was that you needed to loosen up, so there was that. And I said _confront_. I wasn't a-hundred-percent until he admitted it. Then I proceeded to chew him a new asshole over the phone."

"If things went no further than a kiss, if you stopped it, why'd you lie about the kiss happening?"

"Gee, I don't know Max. Maybe 'cause I felt shitty about kissing back at all. Gee, maybe 'cause you were spooked as hell the next morning and I didn't wanna give you more reasons, on top of your already spotty memory, to think you'd been taken advantage of."

"Hmm."

"Hmm? What does that even mean, Max?"

"Jeez, Victoria, you don't have to have such an attitude about me not knowing what to think of all this. It's a lot."

Victoria has the grace to feel like shit.

After a few quiet moments she covers the distance and sits beside Max, mindful about keeping a few inches between them.

"Max, you're nauseatingly stunning," she says, and it hits the air almost bitterly, like she's jealous and over being ruthlessly confronted by Max's effortless beauty. She rolls her eyes. "And I suppose I was a _little_ thirsty that night. But, damn, the thirst wasn't so serious that I'd sexually assault you. I'm not always nice but I'm not evil."

"I don't think you're evil," Max tells her.

Relief, a dangerous shade of sublime, floods Victoria. She's screwed now that Max is attending Blackwell, and she knows it.

She thinks about pressing her face into her hands and groaning. Her crush-related teen angst will have to wait though.

"Are you reporting Nathan to the cops?"

"That depends on Nathan."

Victoria frowns. "What? What do you mean?"

"I wanna talk to him."

"What for?"

"I can't be the only girl he's done this to."

* * *

 **Despite the warning, there is no actual rape in this story, but as you saw there are mentions of the word/concept, which might be triggering for some.**


	2. Chapter 2

"This isn't how I like my eggs!" Victoria barks. "I said over easy! Take it away and get it right this time!"

"Y-Yes. Right away," the waitress says, grabbing the plate before disappearing into the back.

Fidgeting in the intimate booth for two, Victoria huffs; shoves the salt cellar with such force that it slides clear across the table.

She's staring out the window with a frown when Nathan slips into the booth opposite her.

He has a twinkle in his eye, a wide wolfish grin, and a twitch about him.

And he's sniffing every five seconds.

Victoria's gaze narrows. "I thought I told you not to come here tweaking?" she quietly spits across the table.

It's an extension of an unapologetic shrug – the way Nathan lifts both hands, palms faced up. "You know how it goes, sis."

Victoria sighs, drags her hand across her forehead before letting it flop to the table listless. "I told you to come with a clear head – that this was important!"

Nathan grins wider. "If it's so important get to it then, right?"

He's the younger brother Victoria never thought she wanted, related not by blood but by money, prestige, neglectful parents, and crushing social pressure.

She gets it. Why he's always high. She might be too, but she's learned to deal with the carnage inside through other means.

A new plate of food meets the table with a soft clink. This time the eggs are over easy and there's three extra slices of bacon.

"I-I hope you're satisfied with your meal this time, miss."

"We'll see," Victoria tells the waitress, who seems dazed and rooted to the spot. "Uh, run along now."

"Y-Yes. I'm sorry. Enjoy."

And that's how Victoria self-medicates.

Nathan giggles into his loose fist watching the woman hurry back into the kitchen. "She _definitely_ spit in your food."

"Please," Victoria dismisses. "Like she could even muster any, how dry her mouth was."

"Trrrusky."

"Really Nathan? Trusky?"

"Eat your food and stop being a hater."

Victoria does the opposite, pushing the plate aside. She's not hungry anymore. She's nervous about having this conversation.

"Remember the carnival two months ago?"

Nathan snags a bacon slice from Victoria's plate, figures that if she's not gonna eat he might as well. He stuffs his mouth, chewing in wide jaw snaps. "You mean our trip down to the zoo that is Aurora Creek?" he corrects her with a mean smile. "How could I forget?"

"Just making sure. All the shit you do it's a miracle you remember anything."

"If you want me to stop alls you gotta do is ask," Nathan sing-songs.

Victoria rolls her eyes, because she's lost count of the many times she's told Nathan to stop putting all that shit in his body.

She glances around the almost empty diner to make sure nobody's eavesdropping, catches the eye of an ornery trucker-type who's mid coffee sip.

He sends her a lewd wink.

She glares at him.

He winks again, but ultimately goes back to reading his paper.

"The carnival?" Nathan prompts, snagging another bacon slice.

Victoria recenters herself.

Or tries to.

"Do you... do you remember Max?"

"The girl you had a raging boner for?"

Victoria frowns, disturbed that that's how Nathan's tagging Max. She's not the girl he drugged. She's –

 _The girl I had a boner for_.

"She's studying at Blackwell now," she tells him.

"How's that concern me?"

"Are you kidding me?" Victoria whispers. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"A few things actually. Didn't you hear?" he says. "Let everyone else tell it, I'm a psychopath, a druggie, mentally unstable, a blight on the Prescott lineage. You getting the picture yet, or do I need to continue?"

This isn't acceptable, Victoria concludes, leaning back against the padded booth seat. If Nathan presents himself to Max like this it's over. She'll go to the police.

Victoria can't say that she'll blame her.

"Nathan listen to me! Max knows what went down."

Nathan sobers that moment, sniffs one good time. "How?"

"She, she's really perceptive okay? She figured it out."

With ease, Nathan reads between the lines. He scoffs something close to disbelief. But it's clear from his resigned stare that he expects this. Expects people to betray him.

"Listen, I had to tell her."

"You're Victoria Chase! You don't have to do anything!"

"Look – "

"If I sold you out for some girl I hadn't even smashed yet it'd be world war five! Yet here we are." He barks a dry laugh. "And to think I only did it 'cause you have two left feet when it comes to picking up bitches."

Victoria's eyelids stutter as though Nathan's just elbowed her upside the head and now she's seeing stars.

Her jaw coils tight.

She wants to slap him. So hard that his orbital bone caves in and his face sags to the side, hanging on only by a thread.

"I didn't _ask_ you to do what you did, fuckface! You know what? I should go to the cops myself – let them toss your psycho ass in jail! It's not like you wouldn't deserve it, and it's _sure as hell_ not like you're averse to anal."

Disgust pleats Nathan's nose. "Not averse to anal with _girls_ , no."

"Fur on the buns or not, an exit wound is an exit wound, asshole. Yeah. How'd you like that wordplay?"

"Oh. Is, is this what we're doing?" Nathan flits his hand back and forth between them. "We're talking about each other's sex lives? 'Cause I _know_ a novice isn't telling me a God damn thing!"

"If being selective makes me a novice I'm totally on board. Now what else ya got?"

"You're not selective. You're a closeted dyke who deep-throats one guy every lunar eclipse to keep suspicions at bay. There's a difference."

Victoria's breath quickens; faltering is not an option.

"So hard to remember how many bruises you gave Dana – oh that's _right_! Nine." Victoria tuts, slowly shaking her head side to side. "Poor girl used an entire compact of mine covering them up. Rather be a closeted dyke who swallows every now and then than a wife beater."

Nathan sniffs and looks off, knee bouncing beneath the table. Jaw pulsing.

Victoria waits. She waits for him to give her a reason to fire off another grenade.

But he just sits there, antsy.

 _That's what I thought_.

She leans in towards him, almost sensual in her smugness. "So here's how this is gonna go: you're gonna do what I say. How I say it. Or Max will go to the police."

"I'm not talking to you," he grunts, like he's six.

She inspects her cuticles. "You struck first Nathan."

" _You_ ratted me out to Max!"

"God, how many times? She knew!"

"How?"

"You creepy stare, for one."

Nathan narrows a glare across the table.

"That exact one probably," Victoria points out, blasé. "And you gave her that beer. I told you, she's perceptive. Like Rachel, minus all the mind-fucking and whoring around. You fit the bill and she was right."

"Yeah well I'm not sweatin' it. Know why? 'Cause the cops aren't gonna side with her anyway. I'd legally crush her – counter sue for defamation if I had to."

"You're not gonna do shit _if you had to_ ," Victoria mocks him. "And you should be sweating."

Nathan folds his arms and lifts his chin, straight-faced but smug. "Why's that then?"

"Because if you don't fall in line, not only will I chauffeur Max to the police station, but I'll back her story up too. They'll surely believe a Chase."

"What?" Nathan spits, and it's a miracle that he doesn't thump the table with his fist. "I thought we were supposed to be tight?"

"Call it tough love. Now, Max wants to talk to you. _Sober_ , you're gonna do just that – convince her you're not some serial date rapist and that there's a soul somewhere inside of you. Tell her you just wanted to help me and be remorseful about it. At the very least, convince her I'm not tapped for being friends with you. We clear?"

Slightly manic, Nathan shakes his head. "No, I don't like this. Not a bit."

Victoria snaps her fingers. "Nathan!"

His eyes cut to her sharp.

Only then does she say, "if I didn't care I wouldn't be strong-arming you into doing this. So make like Nike and just do it."

* * *

Victoria's stood before Max's door when she hears it.

Soft rhythmic strumming, the kind of song that scores nostalgic bus rides into town and reflective walks along the beach.

She sort of screws her face up, not because Max isn't a crazy talented guitarist, but because obnoxious beats that demand twerking are much more her thing.

She finds the urban chaos freeing, a welcome change in pace from pressed cashmere, perfect grades, and goal deadlines.

Her knuckles wrap against hard wood twice.

The strumming stops.

There's minor turbulence, along with some discordant guitar string twangs.

And then Max is at the door. "Oh. Hey."

Victoria sucks in a steadying breath, smiles. "Hey."

She notes Max's appearance.

High-cut baggy sleep shorts, a worn shirt that stops just above the navel, and clusters of static hair that serve adorableness rather than offense.

"Sorry, was I making too much noise?"

It takes Victoria a moment to come back to herself. She shakes her head. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Of course not. No, the volume was fine. Not my kind of jam, but you sounded awesome."

Max's freckle-dusted cheeks tinge pink. "Thanks."

"Ugh. Drop the modest downcast gaze thing, Max. You're talented, and you need to shove that talent down everybody's throat until they're throwing up intestine."

Max doesn't get the sharpness, but then Victoria's smirking, and Max understands that she's joking.

"I guess I'll work on that." She steps aside and gestures into her room. "Do you want to come in?"

Victoria snorts as she brushes by her, tossing, "I was starting to think it was paid admission only," over her shoulder.

That joke Max chuckles at.

She gently pushes the door in and leans against it.

Now it's just the two of them. But not like before.

The tension is less, and the garishly dressed elephant has swapped shifts with a smaller elephant who's still vying for attention, just not as hard.

Victoria makes little attempt to be discreet about surveying her new environment, eyes greedy and curious amongst Max's things.

Like the keep calm and carry on rug beneath her Jimmy Choos.

The retro Hi-Fi stereo.

The heavily populated bookshelf above it.

The tattered stuffed bear on the pillow.

The space is simple and sentimental, rows of photos lining the wall that shoulders the bed. A thread of lunar fairy lantern lights hang over them, each picture bathing in the soft glow.

It's all a little disheveled and hipster. But it holds definite charm.

Like Max.

"Are those your shots?" Victoria asks, nodding towards the photo wall.

"Yes."

"Can I take a look?"

This isn't what Victoria's here for. They both know that.

But Max figures she needs to be better about sharing her work and receiving critique anyway.

"Sure."

Victoria approaches the bed. She slides an arm around her midsection, the other hand's thumb and index finger stroking her chin as analysis furrows her brow.

Max stares at her back.

"Is there _anything_ you can't do?" Victoria asks after a while, somewhat sharp with it.

She points at a photograph. "Your compositional use of symmetrical leading lines here is extraordinary. The way the spiraling staircase coils around the couple at the center, like everything will always lead back to their love. Like everything revolves around it. It's already intimate, but the aerial angle makes it more so. Almost voyeur." She whips around to look the artist in the eye. "And all with a Polaroid too. Guess I know who I'm working with if Jefferson ever asks our class to pair up. Hell, I should probably just give up any hopes of winning the Everyday Heroes contest now."

This is a pattern, Max notices. Victoria pitting herself against others unfavorably is a pattern.

"Not at all. We all stand too close to the mirror when it comes to our own work sometimes. But then you back up, and everything's clear again, and it's easier to appreciate your own talent. I bet if I looked at your portfolio, I'd momentarily ask myself why I bother too."

Victoria sees the opportunity to learn more and seizes it. "Why do you?"

"Taking photos is a blast. It's cool that people see things as I do, even if just for one snapshot. Snapshots that sometimes say the things I can't."

"Can't say or won't say?"

Max smiles at Victoria's perceptiveness. "Both."

Bobbing her head into a short nod, Victoria spots an acoustic guitar resting against the far wall.

 _The_ guitar.

"Still not over you being musical yet. Again, is there anything you can't do? 'Cause this is just getting ridiculous now."

"I can assure you, I'm far from perfect."

Tilting her head towards her shoulder, Victoria looks Max over. "Could've fooled me."

A smile, laden with polite discomfort, unfolds across Max's features.

Victoria frowns and clears her throat. "Um –"

"Did you get a chance to talk to Nathan yet?"

Victoria's just grateful for the subject change. "Yes. That's why I stopped by. To tell you he's willing to talk. I'm putting on a Vortex Club party tomorrow night. He'll be there. You should too."

Max grimaces, sort of. "Parties aren't really my thing."

"Really, how different are parties from carnivals?"

"And you saw how I am at carnivals. I tagged along because my friend, Chloe, begged me."

"Only to ditch you to have porta-potty sex with that walking STI, Rachel Amber. Some friend," Victoria says before her filter can kick in. She sighs, pressing two fingers to her temple and massaging. "Sorry. It's been a long day and I guess I'm wound tight."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

Victoria's sure Max does this on purpose. The monosyllables.

They're a tool to create distance. Maybe they're designed to punish too. Victoria's still undecided.

She dips her head to catch the shorter girl's eyes. "What, am I in the dog house now? If I am you can just say it."

"No."

"No you aren't going to say it, or no I'm not in the dog house?"

"No, you aren't in the dog house."

"You're like, totally impossible to read, Max."

"I'm pretty sure I'm coming through loud and clear, Victoria. I'm not cool with what you said. It was vicious and uncalled for. Not to mention without all the facts; I actually told Chloe to go. I don't like what you said. But that doesn't mean I'm seething inside nurturing a grudge."

"I kind of feel like you might be."

"There's nothing I can do about that."

"So we're –" Victoria hesitates, aware of how pathetic she's about to sound. "So are we cool?"

"Sure."

"Really?"

"Victoria, I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"So..."

 _On second thoughts_. "What's the story with Kate?"

Victoria immediately schools her features, plays it cool with a subtle shrug. "There is no story."

"I saw how you spoke to her. Seems like you have her running around campus like an abused wife."

"Yeah well, not everything is as it seems Max."

"She seems pretty harmless, Victoria."

"Well she isn't. Just stay out of it."

"Too many good people stand by and let bad things happen." Max shrugs, like she's helpless to her own meddling. She gently pushes away from the door to sit on her bed, beside where Victoria's stood., because proximity equals emphasis. "If _you_ were in the position I think Kate might be in, I'd try to help you too."

"And I love that about you – I mean like." Victoria winces. "I _like_ that about you. But you don't understand, so _stay_ out of it."

It's pretty simple to Max. "So make me understand, because what I saw wasn't okay."

Victoria's jaw works back and forth. She isn't used to being scolded. Not really. Others have called her out, but they all fold once they feel the sharp edge of her tongue.

Not Max though. Victoria doesn't have to slash her pretty face to know that she'll keep coming. Far from that, she doesn't want to.

The long and short of it? Kate Marsh is a sanctimonious God nut who needs to exercise more tact when spewing her religious bullshit. Victoria's seeking to right that before it gets her hurt.

Really she's doing her a favor. The world too.

 _Little bitch should be grateful_.

"Victoria –"

" _Fine_!" she huffs. Anything to stop Max looking up at her like that. "I'll ease up on Kate. Happy?"

"Very."

"Another satisfied customer."

Max isn't sure whether Victoria's flippancy is harmless or paved with disdain.

"So are you coming to my party tomorrow night?"

Upon the growing silence, Victoria quickly tags on, "I'll totally look out for you and make sure you're good."

 _Just like I did that night_.

Max's lips twitch under a subtle smile that's warm in nature, and Victoria feels her sanity fray around the edges.

"Okay. I guess I'll be there."

"You better be. I don't want to have to send someone looking for you, 'cause I totally will."

"I have no doubt."

"I guess I better..." Victoria looks to the door. "Guess I better go get ready for bed then."

"Sleep well."

"You too Max," Victoria tells her, stalling for a moment before making her way to the door. She stops in front of it like she's forgotten something. "Oh and Max?"

"Yes?"

"People don't know I'm..." Victoria realizes she's never actually said it out loud, to herself or to anyone else.

And she won't have to. At least not right now. "It's okay, I kind of figured you weren't out. I won't say anything."

Victoria issues a quiet, "thank you."

And when she's under her covers, _queen bitch_ sleep mask on, with her hand inside of her panties, she arches hard thinking about freckle-dusted cheeks and outie navels.

* * *

 **Feedback is love.**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's been a gargantuan amount of time since you've gotten an update. My apologies. Life's been super hardcore. I strongly suggest going back and reading this story from chapter one so that this one makes sense, given it's been so long since it was updated. This is a lengthy one. Hope you enjoy.**

 **Disclaimer: Mentions of a prolific Hollywood sexual abuser.**

* * *

"I can't believe you've seen _Time Rebound_! That's so cool! Not 'cause you're a girl or anything, but because I don't know anyone else who's seen it! I have tons of other movies like it on my flash drive. You can borrow it if you want. Or we can, you know, watch a few together tonight. Like over Skype or something, since we live in separate dorms. Yeah, that's it. Or Google Hangouts. Actually there's something called Syncplay we could use, I just remembered."

Max blinks.

Once.

Twice.

"Well?"

"Uh, Warren I —"

"Yeah?"

"I'll think about it."

"Oh. Okay then. No pressure or anything." Warren slings his bag over his shoulder. "So, I'll catch you in tomorrow's science class?"

 _Tomorrow? What happened to right now's science class?_

Max looks around the classroom.

Herself, Warren, and Mrs. Barzoli are the only ones left.

"Oh," she murmurs.

"Everything okay Max?"

"Yeah. I'm just, I didn't realize class was over."

Warren's face flusters a sore crimson. "Sorry. Sometimes I get a little overzealous talking about my interests. My mom always says it's like getting sucked into a vortex."

"Don't worry about it. Can I ask you about something though?"

"Shoot."

"When I first got here, it was like I was invisible. But yesterday and today, well, people have been falling over themselves trying to talk to me. Am I missing something?"

"Yeeah," Warren breathes out, rubbing the back of his neck.

"What?"

"It's..."

"It's what?"

"You were invisible because everybody's sort of... afraid of Victoria Chase."

Max frowns. "Chase? Victoria's surname's Chase? As in the Chase Space galleries and Chase Industries? As in _the_ Victor Chase who's running for mayor of Arcadia Bay?"

"Well yeah," Warren says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "How do you not know that?"

Max supposes she should have. But not really.

When Victoria introduced herself at the carnival she omitted the Chase, and it's not like Max makes it a priority to keep up with Chase ancestry.

The things she knows about the family have always led her to believe them the types who need to let everyone in the room know who's who.

But not Victoria.

At least not that night.

"Max?"

"You said people are afraid of Victoria?"

Warren nods.

"What, because of her family's money and power?"

"Yeah, but also because she has a machete for a tongue and a vicious mean streak. She can do whatever she wants, and she knows it. So does everybody else."

"So," Max drawls, trying to understand, "I was invisible because, what, she told everyone to ignore the new girl?"

"No."

"Warren, please break this down for me in a way that all comes together."

"It just speaks to how tight a grip she has on this place. People kept their distance from you 'cause they didn't have Victoria's approval to do otherwise. She was absent from school around the time you arrived on campus. What if she came back and took a disliking to you?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Anyone she perceived to be friendly with you would've also been in the firing line. No one wants to deal with that. But then people saw her laughing with you in the courtyard, word got around, and wa-la — you're not invisible anymore."

"Wow," Max murmurs.

 _Now Kate's behavior makes even more sense_.

"Shouldn't you two be heading to your next class?"

Both Max and Warren look to Mrs. Barzoli, and then to each other.

Mrs. Barzoli raises a stern eyebrow. "Well?"

"Sure," they chorus, before Max begins collecting her things.

Two classrooms down Courtney drags her finger through the black marker on the whiteboard, turning the word _class_ into _ass_. "Why are we stood waiting around for Mr. Meck again?" she asks.

Victoria looks to Taylor but jerks a bored dismissive thumb in Courtney's direction. "When is this whore's bus coming?"

Taylor laughs.

Courtney too, but much quieter.

"Not soon enough apparently. We're stood here, waiting on Mr. Meck, because I need to talk to him about something," Victoria says, like Courtney's dumb questions are an ongoing inconvenience. "You can both run along to class though. I don't need to be babysat."

"Sure you don't want us to stick around?" Taylor checks.

"Sure as Jennifer Lawrence won't wear that lipstick again after social media dragged her for it."

"Okay. We'll catch you at lunch after you get done poaching Jefferson for all his photography contacts," Taylor chuckles, turning on her heel, Courtney trailing after her.

Victoria glances at the wall clock and clicks her tongue, wondering if Mr. Meck went to China as opposed to the bathroom, like he said.

 _He's probably sharing hooker stories with Wells over a bottle of Blackwell's Finest._

She's perched on the corner of a desk preening her side bang when she feels her upper thigh vibrate.

A text.

From Nathan.

 **Got suspended. One week. Effective immediately.** **I** **'m not** **s** **tealthing my way** **into your shitty party tonight** **either** **. I'll be at Ally's Café at lunch. Tell** **the feral Aurora Creek** **d** **oe** **you're** **cyber** **stalking to meet me there if she still wants dis dick ;)**

Victoria glares at the screen, because fuck Nathan for knowing she's been to Max's Youtube, Instagram, Flickr, Tumblr, _and_ Myspace. For knowing that she's looked up the entire Caulfield bloodline and spent hours staring at the _add friend_ button on Max's Facebook profile.

She still hasn't hit it.

Her thumb knows, red and sore at the cuticles from all the the biting. The long periods of time she's left it hovering over that friend request button, only to... not hit it.

Somehow she just knows; beyond that click irrefutable rejection awaits.

Fuck Nathan!

Fuck him for doing whatever he did to warrant a week's suspension.

And fuck him because now, thanks to his refusal to sneak onto campus tonight, she's going to have to rework his talk with Max to where she can still be present to supervise the situation.

 _There goes my extra tutelage from Jefferson at lunch._

 _Then_ _again, maybe this can work for me_ _..._

An opportunist smirk creeps over Victoria's lips as she opens up a fresh text.

 **(503) 228-6523: Hey Max, hope you're good. It's Victoria. Bad news. Nathan's not coming 2 the party 2nite. #Eyeroll. Anyway he's gonna be at a nearby café that's alwys empty around lunch if you still wanna do this. Lemme know asap x**

Max leans back into her locker, blinks at the message with suspicious eyes.

 _How'd she get my number_?

A football suddenly bounces off the wall opposite and rolls into the trash can beside her; passing jocks messing around.

One of them crouches to scoop it up, shoots her a breathless, "sorry," as he takes off down the hallway after the rest.

The commotion straightens her posture, strengthens her grip on her phone.

She types Victoria a response.

 **How'd you get my number? Which café?**

She doesn't know how many times she reads those seven words.

They're words. Just text on a screen. Neutral.

Still when she reads what she's typed, she imagines Victoria wincing in rejection and scolding herself for tagging the kiss on the end of that first message.

The thought tugs Max's conscience. So she modifies her reply and stares at it for a few seconds.

 **Hey. How'd you get my number? Which café** **do I meet him at** **? x**

 _Better._

She hits send.

Her phone buzzes a minute and a half later.

 **(503) 228-6523: Facebook. Everything's private but ur number.** **Dnt sweat which café,** **I'll drive u. We can do lunch whilst waiting 4 Nathan's perpetually tardy ass 2 show.** **A** **nything u want, on me. Call it an official apology for my dipshit comment last night xoxo**

The _xoxo_ draws Max's attention right away.

Give a person an inch and they take a mile, she thinks, later taking her attention to the opening word.

"Facebook? That's strange."

Max hasn't logged into Facebook since Jesus was in diapers. She doesn't know why or how her number's public, but those annoying privacy setting updates seem like a pretty good — or bad —place to start.

 _Deactivate when you get a chance_.

Victoria's offer to drive them to the café and _do lunch, on her_ floods Max's consciousness.

She focuses on the fact that Victoria won't name the café Nathan's going to, the fact that she's insisting upon driving them to this mystery establishment so that they can wait for Nathan... _together_.

Max sees it for what it is.

A manufactured date situation, or something close to it, half disguised as generosity and remorse.

She rubs her face and groans.

It's not that she thinks Victoria isn't beautiful.

Victoria is.

She carries a modern beauty. The type that walks Milan runways sporting sharp sophisticated chic.

Flawless alabaster skin, modelesque cheekbones, sultry olive-green eyes, a thin upturned button nose, and pert full rosy lips.

All attributes that are complimented by her prim sense of style.

Victoria _is_ beautiful.

She's elegant beauty and tragic beauty, and at times she looks at Max like she's plagued and Max is the antidote — a beauty in and of itself.

But beauty doesn't equal instant attraction.

At least, not for Max.

She still remembers the moment she realized she was different.

 _"She's so hot," Chloe says, inching her foot across the bed and nudging Max's ankle with it. "Look, watch her handle this asshole. Oh! She just flipped him on his back! Oh — are you shitting me? Look! Look how she's stomping a mud hole in his chest! Hot!"_

 _The insistent tapping at Max's ankle sees her close her book and look at the television._

 _WWE Diva, Hester Warren, is absolutely laying into some male superstar who, according to Chloe, interfered in her previous match and cost her the belt._

 _Max's gaze floats towards her best friend. She watches her, studying the way that Chloe's pale blue eyes are hooded, Hester's antics flickering in them._

 _T_ _hose eyes_ _suddenly blink and dart towards her. "Really, Max, I'm flattered you'd rather gawp at me than at Hester. But this is the only time you're gonna hear me admit someone's hotter than me. So I give you full permission to drool_ _ **all**_ _over her."_

 _Max shrugs. "She's pretty, yeah, but —"_

 _The television abruptly goes black and Chloe sits up, crossing her legs as she flings the TV remote somewhere behind her._

 _It meets something with a weighty clunk._

 _Max rolls her eyes fondly. "You're such a drama queen."_

 _"And you're fucking insane! But? There is no but. She's Hester Warren. It's just, 'she's pretty,' Max. No, hot! She's hot!"_

 _"Eh," Max drawls, waving her hand around vaguely. "She's okay."_

 _"Oh hell naw. Alright, name someone hotter." Chloe slaps her thigh. "Go!"_

 _"You do know pro wrestling's fake, right Chloe? Right. So stop being such a mark."_

 _"You're really using pro wrestling terms against me now? You didn't even know what a mark was a week ago, I had to tell you. And it's choreographed not fake. Besides, Hester could be a_ _n astronaut_ _and I'd still wanna bone. So technically my girl boxers aren't soaked 'cause I'm marking out. They're soaked '_ _cause_ _it's Hester. Now name your number one hotty." Chloe winks, adding, "besides me."_

 _"Gross," Max scoffs, nose scrunched. "No more underwear talk."_

 _"Name. Your. Hotty."_

 _"Okay. Um..."_

 _"See? You can't."_

 _"No wait. Um..."_

 _Chloe arches an unimpressed eyebrow. "I'm missing Hester beat the breaks off of Gunnar Hague for this."_

 _"L_ _eo Visurcay_ _."_

 _"You're wet for a Hollyweird actor? I'm disappoint_ — _"_

 _"Hester's an actor too '_ _cause_ _, once again, wrestling is fake."_

 _"Choreographed."_

 _"Whatever. And I'm not, you know, wet for L_ _eo_ _V_ _isurcay_ _. I just think he's impossibly handsome."_

 _"What's the difference?" Chloe asks._

 _The difference is... pretty significant actually._

 _Max likes looking at L_ _eo_ _. He's beautiful, the blinding kind; like staring into the sun._

 _Chiseled jaw, tousled brown hair, a smile that s_ _tarts in his warm coffee eyes_ _, and his snazzy sense of style? Max swears she can smell his cologne through the TV sometimes._

 _He's beautiful._

 _Painfully so._

 _But he doesn't make her panties wet._

 _"Are you seriously saying that if he was here right now, hard as a rock, you wouldn't fuck him?"_

 _"Of course not, Chloe. I'm fifteen," Max says in that condescending parental tone she's so good at. "He's like thirty or something I think."_

 _"Hester could be seventy. But if she offered, I'd ride it 'til the wheels fell off. Fifteen or_ _ **naw**_ _."_

 _Lost for words, Max's lips run soundlessly._

 _"Okay, let's do girls. Who's your number one female hotty?"_

 _"You mean besides you?" Max reminds Chloe dryly._

 _"Ouch. But your sass is hot so I guess I'll let you live."_

 _"Everything is hot to you," Max points out._

 _Chloe looks at her like_ _ **duh**_ _. "We're fifteen. Why isn't, like,_ _ **anything**_ _hot to you?"_

 _Max feels around inside of herself for an answer, comes up with: "I don't know."_

 _"Are you asexual?"_

 _Max frowns. "I, uh, I don't think so."_

 _"Okay, so let's figure this out." Chloe takes on an investigatory air. "When I kissed you did it get you hot?"_

 _"It was interesting. But no."_

 _Chloe jolts and clutches her chest as though Max's words were bullets. "Ouch!"_

 _She receives a weak shove to the shoulder for her efforts._

 _"Come on, Chlo," Max whines. "This is serious."_

 _"Alright. Alright." Chloe pulls out her phone. She waves it through the air, chirping, "when in doubt, Google's always there to set shit straight."_

 _Max leans toward the scratched-up device, screen light washing the side of her face. "What are you typing?"_

 _"There was something I read the other day about_ — _here it is! Demisexuality!"_

 _"Demi what now?"_

 _"It's like the sexuality that's b_ _etween_ _asexual and sexual," Chloe explains. She holds her phone a little away from her face and reads, "demisexuals are only sexually attracted to someone once they've gotten to know them. They need to feel a strong emotional connection to feel sexual attraction. This also applies to other types of attraction, such as romantic attraction." She lowers her phone and looks Max in the eye. "Is that you?"_

 _"Uh..."_

 _Max ransacks the libraries of her mind, thumbing through book after book for the answer she seeks._

 _It feels overwhelming. Futile._

 _B_ _ut then_ _she lands on a slightly worn paperback entitled: Miss Jaredine._

 _Her sixth-grade teacher was warm, pretty, and patient. Other teachers, though they didn't say it, were irritated by Max's introversion, often taking forceful measures to get her to participate._

 _Miss Jaredine was warm, pretty, patient,_ _ **and**_ _offered to give Max private math lessons when she flunked that test._

 _Over a period of two months Miss Jaredine's home played host to one-hour lessons wherein Max formed a deep sense for who the woman behind the whiteboard eraser was._

 _She ceased to be just warm, pretty, patient, and generous. She was funny and relatable. A good listener for things unsaid. A killer baker. The proud owner of Aurora Creek's Good Samaritan medal._

 _Respect worthy, brilliant, and so easy to be around._

 _She was too old, Max knew, but she was wife material nonetheless._

 _Miss Jaredine became Max's sole masturbation muse — her beautiful face the reason Max discovered crying after an orgasm was even a thing._

 _She was definitely sexually attracted to Miss Jaredine, which only happened once their bond flourished deeper._

 _"Hellhole green and blue planet to Maximus," Chloe says, waving her hand before Max's vacant eyes, which suddenly blink._

 _"Chloe, I think I'm demisexual."_

 _"Cool. So you need to be taken to dinner — no, wined and dined before you'll let anyone hit it. Shows you got self-respect. I like."_

 _"Are you saying you don't have self-respect?"_

 _"I mean, I did finger_ _-_ _bang the new girl at school the first day I met her._ _She could've had an STI but she was hot so..._ _" Chloe shrugs._

 _"Yeah, this is where I stop eating and drinking from you."_

 _"Great. Mom says it's getting expensive supporting your Oreo habit anyway. Oh my God, my mom makes dinner for you on the regular! Don't get any ideas about trying to fuck her, you dirty demisexual."_

 _"You're so goofy," Max tells her, tackling her onto her back and tickling her._

 _"Stop — no, not ther —_ _ **help**_ _!"_

Max chuckles to herself because, funnily enough, Victoria _is_ offering to take her to dinner.

Well, lunch technically.

Like demisexuality cares.

She isn't into Victoria. She doesn't know her like that. And given her mean streak, she doesn't know if she wants to.

That in mind, Max decides to keep it vague.

 **I'll meet you in the parking lot at lunch x**

She glances up after hitting send, spots Kate plucking a book from her locker.

Before Max knows it she's walking towards her, and it's as if Kate senses the new attention _—_ the way her gaze weaves between passing bodies until it stops on Max. She closes her locker, hugs her book to her chest, and takes a small accommodating step back.

"Hey Max," she murmurs, smiling faint.

"Hey," Max says, subtle in her steady appraisal of the girl.

Today there's color to Kate's cheeks. No longer is she vibrating with nerves, and whilst still uncertain her eyes are surer of themselves. Whiter and less worn.

It's like she's been exorcised, and Max doesn't know whether to be happy about Kate's revival or concerned about the things Victoria must be capable of.

She decides she's both.

"So, Kate, how are things?"

"I feel like I should be asking you that."

"I guess I'm still kind of" — Max passes her eyes over the cliques littering the hallway. She sidesteps a passing girl to avoid collision — "acclimating."

Kate nods and looks to her shoes which, to Max, feels more a guarded act than a meek one.

"You seemed kind of frazzled the other day —"

"Um," Kate interrupts, a quiver in her voice, "how do you know Victoria?"

Max stares at her for a second, examining her face for clues as to where that question came from. "Well, really, I don't. We met only once before I started coming here."

"Oh."

Something like relief tugs the knots from Kate's shoulders.

It suddenly occurs to Max that perhaps Kate's just released the assumption that she's close with Victoria.

Or worse — that she's one of her lapdogs.

"I'm not one of Victoria's minions," she clarifies, just in case.

"I-I didn't think you were. l —"

"Thought I might be one of Victoria's minions," Max finishes on a forgiving smile. "It's okay."

"Just, I — Victoria can be... I didn't know how you two were connected. It's just best to be..." Kate subjects Max to a grave stare, whispering, "cautious."

Max doesn't need telling.

Aside from a few questionable moments, Victoria's actually been sort of okay. And for the most part, when pushed, she's been transparent. At least it would seem.

But Max hasn't forgotten that feeling — rousing to unfamiliar surroundings with blotchy recall and assault concerns. All of which took place mere hours after exchanging names with Victoria for the first time.

She doesn't need telling. Even amidst smiles, kind words, and moments of camaraderie, caution is a given.

"Could you, you know, maybe not tell V-Victoria what I just said?" Kate asks, shades of the jittery girl from mere days ago resurfacing.

Max mimes a zipping motion across her lips and smiles for reassurance sake.

It's clear anyway, but Kate's relieved, "thanks," draws a bold line under Max's notion that where Victoria's concerned, there's fear, and then there's _Kate's_ fear.

"Can I ask you something, Kate?"

"Um, okay."

"Did something happen between you and Victoria?"

Kate tenses, and Max swears she hears one of those heavy steel doors slam shut somewhere, complete with the phantom gust that she swears nips her cheeks.

"I didn't mean to pry."

Kate puts up a smile that vanishes the moment it peaks, says, "I have to get to class. I'll, um, see you around Max."

"...Sure."

Mr. Harris is droning on about Russia's soviet history, or something. Kate's unsure.

She's somewhere else, her senses are somewhere else, lost in what took place this morning.

She'd abandoned toweling herself off to open that text the second _Queen V_ flashed on her cell screen _._

 _ **I'm bored of thinking up ways to make you regret being born, so I'm calling a ceasefire. Offend me again, however, and your family of fucking cousins will know just what a sinful little whore you are once you forget God's watching.**_

Kate fidgets in her seat at the back of Mr. Harris' class, accidentally elbows her textbook sideways as she considers every blasphemous barb Victoria's ever sent her way.

 _God fucker._

 _Mary Magdalene._

 _"Don't like that I made you save my number under Queen V? Aw, sadface. Take your ass to Jesus and pray about it."_

 _Bible humper_.

 _"Quit stammering, or this is for_ _sure_ _gonna be_ _ **your**_ _last supper, we clear?"_

 _Thirteenth disciple._

 _"Get God on the line 'cause someone needs to get at that ass for the rush job he did creating you."_

 _"I am God, dipshit."_

Kate extends the contract with herself that she'll pray for Victoria's soul nightly.

She supposes she should be relieved, comforted by this morning's text — the fact that Victoria's decided to withdraw the gun from her temple and holster it, and Kate _is_ relieved.

To a degree.

Just the permission she's given herself to halfway believe that that video is retired, at least for now, has already done wonders for her mental health.

It's the without a rhyme or reason part that's keeping her up at night.

The ceasefire's all too sudden. So sudden it feels like trickery — another of Victoria's malicious transgressions.

The magnitude of which Kate is no stranger to...

 _"Do we have company?"_

 _"Um, I — no, I don't... think so," Kate's puny utterance hits the drab floor tiles._

 _Victoria breezes past her, each cubicle door giving way to her terse shove, and when she's satisfied they're alone she returns to the bathroom door, pressing back into it under the mindset that her peers are just going to have to change their tampons elsewhere._

 _"We need to talk."_

 _The sink pipe gargles then, groaning so Kate doesn't have to._

 _She wishes she'd spilled orange juice down her dress, that a bird had dropped a surprise in her hair_ _—_ _anything! Anything that would have forced her to return to her room to change, or eat up time elsewhere, because then she wouldn't have been in the drama lab collecting costumes for Miss Tate when she was._

 _She wouldn't have witnessed what she witnessed._

 _And this, right here, wouldn't be happening._

 _"Am I talking to myself?" Victoria snaps, though it lacks the usual thrust._

 _They both know why._

 _Still Kate offers up childlike innocence. "What did you want to talk about?"_

 _Bored green eyes pin her with a look like,_ _ **really?**_

 _"I-I won't say anything."_

 _"I need to know what you_ _think_ _you saw."_

 _It's a request Kate's not sure she can muster an answer to. The language she'd have to use..._

 _What she walked in on an hour ago is still ricocheting around inside of her, unruly and undigested, like her mind hasn't yet figured out where to file it. How to._

 _She feels Victoria's eyes pricking her flesh, unable to meet them with her own. "Just, I saw... you. With Rachel. In the walk-in costume closet."_

 _Pursuing her lips, Victoria smothers the urge to be brutish about prying more details from Kate's, understanding that this needs finesse more than it needs a firm hand._

 _She shrugs, projecting a casual air_ _—_ _even inspects her new nail polish job. "You can delete whatever perverse narrative you've got running through your head. We were just going over a scene for the upcoming production."_

 _"But you're, um, you're not in the upcoming production."_

 _"Yeah well Rachel is," comes Victoria's smooth rebuttal, and it should be, given all the practice. "She was bitching about needing someone to rehearse lines with since Hayden's out sick. I was around and Mr. Keaton asked for my help. Of course Rachel said she'd rather eat her own children than work with me, so naturally I jumped at the chance to be all up in her grill. Keaton suggested we get comfortable with each other so we went to the costume closet. Not like I knew there was a stupid kissing scene, right? She took_ _ **all**_ _the pleasure in ambushing me with it though," Victoria grumbles, the ease with which she's able to flesh out her lie impressive even to her. "Spiteful whore almost chipped my tooth she leapt at me so fast. Technically that bitch headbutted me, and if my face turns up bruised I swear I'm pressing charges."_

 _She touches her brow and feigns a wince, draws her fingers back as if she'll find blood coating them._

 _The story, good as it sounds, finds Kate on an insincere note._

 _She might come from a sheltered family who believe Jesus walked on water, but she isn't naive enough to dismiss Victoria's participation in that kiss._

 _The frantic hands; greedy, indecisive, and demanding against rumpled fabric. Those hissing gushes of ragged breath from nostrils flared, bathing top lips. Rachel's knowing smirk; that Victoria was lost to wanton thirst, all for her._

 _What Kate walked in on is a truth that cannot be untold or re-written, and her face reflects it._

 _"Really Kate? Is it_ _ **so**_ _hard to imagine Mr. K asked me to be Hayden's temp stand-in?"_

 _Actually, it is._

 _Hard to imagine Mr. Keaton would ask two female students to kiss. Stage or otherwise. Much less two mortal enemies._

 _Even harder to imagine that either girl would agree to such a request._

 _Rachel Amber versus Victoria Chase._

 _Their rivalry is Blackwell legend, part of the town's historical fabric_ — _rumored to've begun when they auditioned for the same TV commercial as kids, only for Rachel to get the part._

 _To those on the outside looking in, they despise each other, neither girl ever missing an opportunity to get a snipe in on the other._

 _To Victoria, once real animosity now serves as foreplay, every vicious public put-down an excuse to bite, scratch, or tug fistfuls of hair when they're panting into each other's mouths._

 _Kate doesn't need to know that though, and if she's smart she'll act like she knows nothing at all._

 _Turns out she is._

 _She's smart enough to know she wants nothing to do with this._

 _"It isn't hard to imagine," she's quick to mutter. "I'm, um, sorry for getting things mixed up."_

 _Unsatisfactory, Victoria decides, inspecting the timid girl through a careful squint. Kate knows the truth, even if she's pretending she doesn't._

 _If Victoria's learned anything from her parents' success, it's that building the right relationships is key._

 _Friends do things strangers won't._

 _It's the reason she compliments Mr. Jefferson's ties and banters him about one day achieving more fame than him. It's the reason she swoons when close enough to whiff his cologne, telling him he smells like a dream — why she feigns clumsiness around him as an excuse bend over and pick up whatever she's 'dropped.'_

 _If he happens to check her out and decides to recommend her work to industry friends, so be it._

 _Friends do things strangers, even acquaintances, won't, and if Kate's the loyal friend Victoria suspects she might be, then_ —

It's time to bring her into the fold _._

 _She smirks, waves the apology off. "Don't worry about it. We all get things mixed up from time to time." She tilts her head then, eyes Kate as though she's considering something. "You know, totes crazy but I think this just might be the first conversation we've ever had."_

 _"I think so, yeah."_

 _"Well I like you, Marsh. You're okay."_

 _"...Thanks."_

 _"If you really wanna thank me you'll attend tonight's Vortex Club party."_

 _Kate's stomach drops, and the redness of the universal stop sign looms large in her mind._

 _But she can feel it: if she says no, the house of cards Victoria's just built will come crashing down._

 _On her._

 _It's just one party, she bargains with herself. One party and this whole thing will go away._

 _"O-Okay."_

 _"Great!" Victoria chirps, bringing her palms together with a satisfied snap. "I'll come get you like an hour before so Dana can hook you up with something fab to wear. Anything you choose. We'll get Imogen to make sure your face is beaten to perfection, and I'll style your hair."_

 _When Kate shuffles through the gym hall doors behind Taylor and Imogen, dressed like someone she doesn't recognize and smelling like seduction, she tells herself again: it's just one party._

 _Inside's everything she's ever heard Vortex Club parties are._

 _Lavish._

 _Cool._

 _Glamorous_ _._

 _And the rumor that there's never faculty supervision isn't just a rumor._

 _Everybody's acting like it too, sloshing alcohol around plastic cups and squinting through vape clouds as they laugh in each other's faces and body-pop to the hard-hitting dubstep spinning on the decks._

This is probably what nightclubs are like _, Kate imagines, trawling wide-eyes over the makeshift VIP area, which shouldn't feel all that important. After all, it's just a circular white sofa with post-and-rope barriers surrounding it._

 _Still the psychology is such that she wonders what it would be like on the other side._

 _Strobe lights flicker across her face in rotating triads of gold, purple and white._

 _There one moment. Gone the next._

 _It's hypnotic._

 _Fit for a Vortex Club affair, she guesses._

 _Taylor and Imogen slow their gait, spinning to face her in unison._

 _Kate decides the synchronized movement's a little creepy._

 _"Want a drink?" Taylor asks._

 _On cue, something tropical that boasts an intimidating warmth wafts across Kate's nose. "No thanks. I don't really drink all that —"_

 _Taylor rears her head back with a horrified gasp, to which Imogen snickers. "What do you mean you don't drink?"_

 _"I... no, I have before. But drunkards shall not inherit the, the kingdom of heaven," Kate blurts, instantly grimacing._

 _"She for real, Imy?"_

 _Kate looks to the floor, sure she can't mess that up. Her fingers glide through the frilly material at the neck of her dress to pluck out the cross at her sternum, a silent prayer on her lips._

 _"She's into religion, not vodka shots, T," Imogen explains, recalling the conversation that had soundtracked her dusting blusher into Kate's cheeks._

 _Taylor rolls her eyes. "Suit yourself." She jerks a thumb towards the punch bowl table. "We're getting drinks. We'll be back to get you in a sec."_

 _Kate's breathing evens out as the two girls walk away. Prayer answered._

 _Dana staggers out of the small dancing crowd then, Nathan pawing at her. He hooks her around her waist like her brief misstep was severe, and pulls her tight to his side like controlling boyfriends do._

 _Kate has never understood that particular romance._

 _"Kate!" Dana drawls around a wide lax smile. "You look sooo good!" she slurs, unceremoniously petting the frilly fabric of Kate's dress. "Soon as you picked this dress I knew you were gonna look gorgeous!"_

 _Kate shrinks away from the popular girl's touch, cheeks pinkening. "Thank you."_

 _Dana grins lopsided at Nathan. "If I wasn't strictly dickly..." she chuckles, biting her lip on a suggestive smirk that damn near has Kate hyperventilating._

 _When Nathan fails to mirror her enthusiasm, she nudges him and prompts, "_ _ **baby**_ _, doesn't she look super ultra clean tonight?"_

 _"All the world's supermodels are quaking in their boots, I'm sure."_

 _Kate shrinks into herself, looks off._

 _"Now now Nathan," Victoria admonishes, smooth and poised as she saunters to Kate's side. She slides an arm around her hunched shoulders, gestures a slow open palm down her body. "Give the belle of the ball her dues. She looks good enough to win Miss Arcadia Bay."_

 _"I know right?" Dana agrees. She thrusts her elbow into Nathan's side, stumbling a little with the turbulence. "Why so mean?"_

 _"How many times have I told you to quit elbowing me?" he growls._

 _"As many times as I've told you to stop. Being. A meanie," Dana whines, punctuating each syllable with semi-playful pokes to his stomach. "Now what's wong wiv my wittle Nate bwear?"_

 _Victoria mock gags._

 _"The boys are talking about how short your skirt is," Nathan grunts, jaw visibly tensing. "Logan thinks he's won the lottery, and I'm_ _ **this**_ _close to laying him out."_

 _Suddenly self-conscious Dana tugs her skirt hem down. She pouts when she releases it and it jaunts further up her thigh than before. "It's not even, even that..." Her words cease to a huffy sigh, because it is._

 _It is that short._

 _"We're all here to have fun!" Victoria asserts, nailing Nathan with stern eyes. "Get it together quick, fast, and in a hurry. Or get out. Your choice."_

 _"Get Logan under control or I break his nose!_ _ **Your**_ _choice!"_

 _"Don't tell me what my choices are, shithead."_

 _"Nice. One broken nose coming right up."_

 _Victoria feels Kate grow wooden beneath her touch._

 _She sighs. She's supposed to be cultivating an image of herself that's palatable to Kate's senses. Harmless and warm._

 _Friendly._

 _A persona worthy of Kate's loyalty, and consequently her silence._

 _If she drags Nathan the way she wants to she can kiss that goodbye._

 _"Well? You gonna say something to him so my fist doesn't have to?"_

 _"Whatever, I'll talk to him," Victoria huffs. "Then maybe you'll both get back to tag-teaming everyone with your juvenile pranks. Not that I've missed finding fake spiders in my bed. Now let's all get back to having a good time."_

 _The way Dana lunges forward, Victoria doesn't see it coming. It's just a blur of brown hair, sentimental blue eyes, and pale arms. Arms that snatch Victoria's shoulders and pull her in flush, chest to chest._

 _"Dana, be careful!" Victoria hisses, clicking her tongue. "You almost elbowed Kate!"_

 _Dana hugs harder._

 _"Would you quit — no you did_ _ **not**_ _just blow a raspberry on my neck!" Victoria whines, struggling against the vice-like grip now clasped at her lower back. "Dana!" she growls. "Get a hold of yourself!"_

 _"Rather get a hold of you... soft and fluffy club president," vibrates muffled, warm, and moist against Victoria's neck._

 _She wedges her hand between their bodies to create space._

 _The grip only tightens, and Victoria's eyes widen._

 _"Whoa-ow! O-Okay, breathing's important, Dana! I'm, I am_ _ **really**_ _fond of breathi — how are you this strong? Anyone'd think you'd been arm-wrestling Godzilla, Jesus!" Flailing helplessly, she looks to Nathan, whose blasé shrug earns him a glare. "One day she's gonna crush your balls doing this bullshit, so I'm not even bothered."_

 _Another shrug._

 _Kate chuckles into the back of her hand._

 _Off of a final squeeze Dana lets go and stumbles back, projecting a warm goofy smile that ignores the ragged breaths puffing past Victoria's lips. "You're so adorable, V — always dif...differ... defacing?"_

 _"Dif —" Kate swallows the rest, unsure. Her wide sheepish stare circles the expectant faces watching her, and before she loses all nerve she squeaks, "diffusing?"_

 _"Yeah diffusing, thanks Kate! V, you're always diffusing stuff in the club and throwing parties. People think you're this, like, that you're this ice queen. But you'll always be mama bwear to us."_

 _"Mama bear?" Victoria scoffs bitterly, batting the wrinkles out of her halter top and wiping raspberry residue from her neck. "What am I, forty?"_

 _Straight-faced, Nathan arches his brow. "Sixty's more your speed."_

 _Victoria's hands still. She narrows an evil squint at him. "Do you really wanna upset mama bear? 'Cause that's where this is headed, Nathan!"_

 _Dana snorts her way to an unrestrained giggle._

 _Kate follows suit._

 _The VIP sofa is comfy, she notes as she settles into it beside Victoria._

 _Taylor and Courtney scrutinizing her between hushed giggles and sips of alcohol isn't._

 _She keeps her eyes on her shoes. Counts the holes her laces are threaded through over and over until numbers aren't numbers anymore._

 _To her left Zachary suddenly flings his cards in the air, the outburst tugging her from her self-induced spell. He folds his arms tight across his puffed chest, spades, hearts, and aces raining down like confetti. "I'm not playing anymore! You're a cheat!"_

 _"Chill bro, don't be a sore loser," Logan taunts as he scoops Zachary's hundred dollar bill up and slips it into his own pocket. "Maybe you'll win next time... provided_ _ **I'm**_ _not playing." He turns his charming smirk on Kate. "Hey babe, you want in on the next game?"_

 _All eyes find her._

 _"Um... I-I don't gamble."_

 _"You don't drink either," Taylor's too happy to point out. "What exactly_ _ **do**_ _you do for fun?"_

 _"Um... I —"_

 _"Alphabetize all your favorite Bible chapters — or whatever they're called?"_

 _"She doesn't go after guys who're taken 'cause it boosts her non-existent self-esteem, that's for sure," Victoria puts her phone away to say._

 _"I-I didn't mean anything by it, V. It was just a question."_

 _"And I was_ _ **just**_ _pointing out that your idea of fun is going after wifed up guys. See how that works?"_

 _Taylor tosses what's left of her vodka to the back of her throat._

 _"So let's set this straight," Victoria continues, flashing everyone in the vicinity a look, "if Kate would rather read Bible verses than get drunk and gamble, that's her prerogative. Some worship off-the-market cock. Cough cough: Taylor. Others worship God. Get over it."_

 _"Burn!" Josh mouths._

 _Taylor flips him off as Courtney rubs soothing circles into her back._

 _Once the card game picks up again Kate leans into Victoria, murmurs, "thanks."_

 _"Don't mention it."_

 _"I've had alcohol before," she feels the need to clarify. "I even drink it occasionally, but I never get drunk."_

 _"Well if you want something low strength lemme know. I've been sipping the weak stuff all night, mostly 'cause it tastes ah-mazing. Less for the buzz."_

 _"You mean that peach stuff you had when you did my hair? It smelled nice."_

 _Victoria hums the affirmative, reaches down into her bag and unearths the medium-sized bottle of_ _Blackwell Peach Crush._ _She shakes it at the timid girl, grinning like the devil Kate's sure is perched on her shoulder. "Wanna try it?"_

 _The offer calls for Kate to take inventory of the situation._

 _She's at a Vortex Club party under shady circumstances, courtesy of one Victoria Chase. Victoria Chase, who's never been particularly mean or warm to her, but somehow, tonight, seems different. Human._

 _One drink won't hurt, she convinces herself._

 _"I'll just, I think I'll have one please."_

 _Victoria smirks, popping the cap. "Dana said that too."_

 _The comparison is fitting._

 _One turns into two._

 _Two into five._

 _Five into Kate slut-dropping before a gape-mouthed Logan on the dance floor._

 _"Wow!" Courtney enunciates, wide-eyed._

 _Taylor lifts her cell phone and hits record, snickering as it captures Logan's hand inching up Kate's thigh. "Plot twist: looks like our resident saint's up for_ _ **way**_ _more than just bible study."_

 _"Right?" Imogen chimes in. "Who knew she had it in her?"_

 _"That's not the only thing she's gonna have_ _ **in**_ _her if Logan gets his way tonight. Wait, did they just kiss?"_

 _When scandalized gasps and wolf whistles penetrate Victoria's awareness, she follows Taylor's cell phone trajectory and sees Kate hooking a leg over Logan's hip as her spins her in a sloppy circle._

 _She swats dead her conversation with Hayden, pushes through the crowd, and snatches Kate's hand, tugging her off to one side so she's quarantined._

 _"Why'd you do that?" Kate accuses, her breath coming in labored peach-scented puffs._

Because you're shitfaced and I'm not risking you spilling my tea _._

 _Something very different leaves Victoria's lips: "Clearly you needed saving from yourself 'cause you passed harmless-drunk-aunt-at-a-family-barbeque four zip codes back!"_

 _A rosy-cheeked grin that verges on a giggle paints Kate's features, because yeah. She_ _ **sure**_ _did._

 _"Whatever, I'm just tryna look out for you! Lemme walk you back to your room 'cause Logan's not the guy you wanna give your v-card up for, trust me!"_

 _Kate bites her lip, pensive for a moment. Then: "Did Rachel take yours?"_

 _ **That**_ _forces Victoria to do a double take, her breath thinning as her heart thrums. "Didn't I already tell you I hate that bitch? Not to mention:_ _ **ew**_ _! Come on, let's go_ — _"_

 _"Are you suurrre?"_

 _It's then that she notices just how wild Kate's eye are — that they're racing with... something._

 _Her suspicious gaze finds Logan._

 _She watches for a few beats._

 _Then he does it._

 _He places something on his tongue and twirls Valerie Hutchins by the arm, and when the two are face to face again, he slides his mouth over hers._

 _"Fuck."_

 _"Nooo thank you," Kate drawls, wagging a disapproving finger. "Strictly dickly over here." Her eyebrows jaunt up like she's shocked even herself with that gem, and she crumples in silent laughter._

 _"Kate, hey, focus! Did you kiss Logan?"_

 _Kate begins swatting the air before her face. "It's soooo hot! I need to sit_ — _"_

 _"Answer me! Did you swap saliva with Logan?"_

 _The fanning stops and Kate stares at Victoria, the moment still even as that triad of lights shifts across their faces._

 _"What are you staring at?"_

 _"A soul in peril. We should pray together, and with God's help you can overcome your problem. Invite Rachel too! All you have to do is give your woes over to our Lord and Savior, and you'll be blessed to live the life he intended!"_

 _Victoria knows, in that moment, that Kate means no harm. She knows she's on something. She knows Kate thinks she's helping, that Kate thinks she's being an exemplary servant of God, out here on her pretty little videogame quest to sanitize souls for God points._

 _But Victoria can't swallow her offense, and if Satan's real she can feel him growing in her veins._

 _"You really think God can fix me, Kate?" she plays along, a dark stillness to her that Kate would've caught had she been sober._

 _"Yes! Of course, Victoria! God can do anything!"_

 _"Anything?"_

 _Kate takes her hand and softly cradles it within her own, promising, "anything."_

 _Victoria notices Taylor, Courtney, and Imogen huddling around Taylor's cell phone, their mean laughter no doubt a response to video of Kate and Logan's lewd dance floor antics. To anyone else watching, they're just a group of girls giggling at a video._

 _All Victoria sees is her vicious revenge plot coming together._

 _There are plenty things about Victoria Chase that qualify for holy sanitization. Her attraction to girls isn't one of them._

 _The way she intends to punish Kate Marsh, however, is._

* * *

 _The knock on Kate's dorm door is crisp but gentle._

 _She slowly sits up in her bed, takes a few sips of water, and attempts to breathe away her lingering nausea. "Never again," she groans, cradling her thrumming forehead._

 _Another crisp knock, this time more insistent._

 _"I-I'm — wait. I'm..." Her voice falls away to the resources it's taking for her to stand and pad slow steps towards the door._

 _When she opens it Victoria's stood before her, hands clasped behind her back, a smile on her face that unsettles more than it soothes. "Morning! Praise be to God that we get to see this beautiful day."_

 _Kate's stomach rolls uneasily._

" _Aren't you gonna let me in? I thought we could get started praying for my soul. You know, since it's in grave peril."_

 _Something about Victoria's tone makes Kate feel like she should know what Victoria's referencing. But she doesn't. She has no reference point, and the disorientation of it all doing nothing to quell her hangover._

" _Well?"_

" _S-Sorry," Kate murmurs, stepping aside to allow Victoria entry._

" _I hope you have enough Bibles for one each. I intend to pray_ _ **hard**_ _, you know? Make a good impression on God since we've never spoken before."_

 _After Kate shuts her door she clutches her off-color forehead, eyes squeezing shut as she swallows away another wave of nausea._

" _Something wrong?"_

" _I, uh, I really don't feel good."_

 _Victoria tuts feigned sympathy. "Aw, sadface. But don't sweat it; we'll just pray that away too."_

" _Victoria, what's... what's this about?"_

" _This is about praying sins away, Kate. Sins I haven't even_ _ **begun**_ _to commit yet."_

" _I don't know what —"_

" _Last night was super interesting. It took, what, like three drinks for you to transform into a complete slut?"_

" _I-I don't remember —"_

" _Well lemme jump-start your memory," Victoria's all too eager to offer. She unearths her cell phone, taps the screen, and hands it to Kate, who receives it with shaky hands._

 _The phone's audio is harsh and tinny on her already taxed senses. Cruel, she'd go as far as to say. But what she sees as the video advances steals the sturdy from her posture._

 _Her dry lips part and close in loop, words eluding her; tears shimmering across her wounded eyes._

" _From this point forward , Kate, you're gonna do what I tell you,_ _ **when**_ _I tell you," Victoria says as the video ends. "If I call you at three in the morning you better be lively and ready to take orders. Secondarily, consider this a gag order; you take what you saw yesterday in the costume closet to your grave." She takes a step towards Kate, looming over her. "Otherwise your starring role in Dance Floor Whores goes viral. Nod if you understand."_

 _Kate barely gets out her jerky nod before she cups her overflowing mouth, flings open her door, and races to the bathroom._

* * *

There's five minutes to go before the lunch bell.

Victoria's already sat on the parking lot bench.

She scans the peaceful grounds, wishes the quiet was as soothing for her as it seems to be for others. Truth is: quiet time alone is a curse sometimes — this hellish conduit to all the bullshit that plagues her.

Right now her plague is Max.

The time they're about to spend together.

What if, like last night, she says the wrong thing? What if she gets food stuck in her teeth, or her latte goes down the wrong way and she coughs until mascara's streaking her cheeks?

What... what if Nathan shows up in one of his chemically induced moods and Max calls the cops?

Even worse — Victoria gulps audibly — what if Max flees the café once she realizes she's been lured to what is... sort of a date?

 _If she hasn't realized already, that is._

Victoria's fingertips glide over the vial-shaped bulge that's stretching her purse pocket. One Clonazepam pill and the pounding heart, the dry mouth, the catastrophizing — it'll all go away.

Her doctor's been prescribing the medication long enough for her to trust the calm she seeks is just a sip of water and a gulp away. And she's been taking the pills long enough to trust that with relaxed calm and improved functionality, come haphazard bouts of drowsiness.

 _How are you gonna drive without getting into a fifteen-car pile-up, stupid_?

Soon droves of students begin to dot the courtyard, none of them Max.

And Victoria looks. Really looks. Squints, presses the inner knife of her hand to her forehead and everything.

She ends up catching Dana, Hayden, and Logan's eye she looks so hard, and they exchange waves.

But none of them are Max.

She's puffing on her vape, swiping through photos she's considering posting to Instagram, when a shadow moves over her.

Glum olive-green eyes dart up, set to harden in annoyance, but —

"Max!" Victoria exclaims, to her feet instantly. She stuffs her phone — which almost tumbles. The vape actually does, and with impact — into her purse. "God, I have had _the_ worst case of butter fingers today," she lies amidst a hollow chuckle, bending to snatch the smoke device from the asphalt. The motion, despite her inner unravelling, is swan-like grace. As is the way she rises and slides the vape into her purse. Credit to childhood ballet classes that saw her mother's critical glare police her every move.

 _Posture, Victoria! Perfection is a Chase birthright! Be. Perfect_ , her mind echoes in that snippy nasal cadence she _swears_ is the root of her anxiety.

Perfection.

Perfect.

After her shitty start with Max, last night's dipshit comment, and this interaction so far, Victoria knows she must be perfect.

But the slight tremble to her hand won't allow it, so she occupies its fingers between the soft strands bundled at the nape of her neck. "Anyways, now that I've stopped dropping all my shit, you um, you look nice."

"Oh, uh, thanks."

"I, um, I dig the jeans."

 _Well, you in them_.

That takes Max by surprise.

Fashion praise from Blackwell's best dressed? She never thought she'd see the day, much less receive kudos from someone who speaks fluent valley girl and goes by the name of Victoria Chase.

She's wearing the simplest outfit. Black skinny jeans torn at the knees. A faded tee beneath a flannel button down. And white converses — at least they were when purchased.

Her hair's seen less kinky days too. They say the person makes the clothes, Max guesses, returning, "thanks. You look sharp too."

A cynical snort. "You're totally just saying that 'cause I said it first."

"I meant it."

"You're not fooling anyone, Maxine."

Max scrunches her nose up. "Never Maxine. Just Max. And your pearls are very first lady. Elegant."

"I guess."

Max smiles to soften, "no guessing required. That was kind of the point of me flat-out saying it."

" _Okay_ Max, I _get_ it! You genuinely think I look sharp. No need to burst a vein, _God_ ," Victoria says, trying and failing to suppress her flustered-faced grin.

It becomes such a feature of her expression that she takes her failure to tame it as cue to turn away, her Jimmy Choo flats starting towards the rose gold Lamborghini parked ahead.

She ushers Max along with a sway of the head.

"Hey Victoria, I uh..."

Victoria whips around, eyes troubled. Like she's afraid she's already somehow messed this up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Just, I have my own set of wheels." Max shoots her Hatchback a proud glance, drawing Victoria's attention to it. "There's no need for you to drive."

"No _need_?" Victoria all but shrieks, rounding on the battered heap of junk. She pauses and suddenly collects herself. "Oh, I see what this is. You're trolling. But like, in person."

She consults Max's amused eyes for a tip-off on when the punchline's about to drop, which bears no fruit. So she looks the grounds over and waits. She waits for Ashton Kutcher and his camera crew to spring out from behind a tree yelling " _you got punked!_ "

The moment fails to arrive, and with the realization that it's never coming, Victoria stills. "Jesus, Mary, and gay Joseph. She's serious."

"What counts is that you got there in the end," Max says, seeming just shy of a condescending slow clap.

Victoria's eyes zip to her face, blinking in the punishing beauty that lives there in search of mal-intent. Instead she finds the smallest twinkle billowing in midnight blue irises. A twinkle that quells her defensiveness and calls up a gradual smirk of her own.

"Okay smartass, that one was free. The next one's gonna cost." She bobs a disgusted nod at the Hatchback. "How is taking this thing out on the road not a safety hazard? Is this even the original color? How? Just... _how_?"

"She performs just fine and yes. Original color intact."

The reverence saturating Max's voice, coupled with her soft smile, takes Victoria to a new low.

 _Damn, this girl really has me out here jealous of an automobile. A beat-up Section-Eight-Housing type Hatchback at that._

 _This isn't pathetic at_ _ **all**_ _._

She says something entirely different.

"You do realize I'm never letting you drive this again, right? Like, for cereal."

"Oh, for cereal?"

Oblivious to the gentle ribbing, Victoria nods strong. "Totally for cereal! Just look at this mess? The bumper's like: shit, just go ahead and lemme into scrapyard heaven already, and your windows seem to have an incurable disease. Like, you could totally die driving this. And not that I care, but how are you gonna save the Kate's of the world if you're six feet under? — No, you know what?" She takes her phone back out, starts typing.

"What are you doing?"

"Finding the number of a car dealership guy I know."

Max's eyes widen. "What? Victoria —"

"You need a car. I'm getting you one."

"I already have one, and no you're not."

"Pft, says you."

"I'm serious Victoria."

"We'll rent one then."

"No."

"Would you shut up and lemme do this? Jesus."

"Victoria, no."

"At the risk of this echoing a Harvey Weinstein type situation: yes. Yes we're totally doing this."

Max reaches out and stills well-kept fast-typing fingers.

Victoria stares at the point of contact for a long moment, blinking only when she remembers to.

"Victoria. I'm serious."

There's something defiant about the set of Victoria's jaw when she looks up and puts her phone away.

Cocking her hip, she motions towards the deathtrap, folding her arms as she shrugs. "Well I'm not okay with you driving this, so you need to come up with something else."

Max wants to scoff, wants to tell Victoria this isn't that serious. That it isn't serious at all — that this shouldn't be a sticking point.

But the conviction in Victoria's stare makes it clear; they're not going anywhere until they reach a compromise.

The words forming on Max's tongue taste cringeworthy and premature, because Victoria hasn't known her long enough for it to make sense that she cares this deeply for her safety, or for it to make sense that Max would want to placate Victoria's supposed concerns.

But she wants to talk to Nathan; confront him, feel him out, and examine his darkness.

And if she wants that to happen this lunch, she understands: she must play the game.

"Okay. I'll have someone check her over."

Victoria side-eyes her through a suspicious squint. "Really?"

"Sure."

"And I get to be present during?"

"Okay."

"Well look at us making progress!" Victoria gives the victory a merry round of applause. "Now since I'm the one pushing for this it's only fair that I pay."

Uneasiness slithers up Max's neck. She listens to it, shaking her head. "I'm not taking your money."

"No, you're just testing my will to live," Victoria complains, rolling her eyes. "I'd much rather you just accept that I'm paying and save me the thousands of dollars in stress-related wrinkle cream, 'cause we both know _wrinkles_ ," she stresses, gesturing a circular motion around her face, "is where this tug-of-war is headed."

Max can't bring herself to subscribe to Victoria's flippant attitude.

She barely knows her, and what she does know paints a dubious picture. Not to mention the mesmerized manner in which Victoria sometimes looks at her.

Max still isn't sure how to approach _that_.

It's all too likely Victoria's trying to buy her. Maybe she knows nothing but to throw cash at the things she wants, people included. Whatever it is, Max isn't comfortable with Victoria potentially feeling owed or entitled to what's not on offer.

"Victoria stop. You're not paying. I have a friend back in Aurora Creek who knows a thing or two about cars. I'll ask her to look at it the next time she's nearby."

"A friend," Victoria states.

"Yes."

"Chloe?"

"Not Chloe, no. Another friend, believe it or not."

A female friend who knows enough about cars to diagnose problems and fix them sounds... suspiciously sapphic, Victoria concludes.

She sucks in a breath, holds it. "Is this... _friend_ qualified to look at motor vehicles?" she asks instead of what she wants to.

"Qualified enough."

"How'd you meet her?"

"Uh, I don't see how that's relevant."

Oh it's relevant, Victoria maintains, though she keeps it to herself.

She's aware she might be veering into bunny boiler territory here, especially since Max has never really reciprocated her romantic interest, save that surprisingly raunchy drug-induced kiss the night of the carnival. But that's not to say that Victoria needs potential competition — to drag an ex or a love interest back into Max's life. She's just about staying afloat as it is.

Of course she could just ask...

 _Did anything ever happen between you and motor tits_?

Of course, she's not going to.

It'd be killing two birds with one stone though, because navigating the ambiguous waters of Max's sexuality is — Victoria sighs — freaking exhausting!

Perhaps it's time to woman up!

Bite the bullet!

 _Don't ask, don't get_.

Her lips part, hanging like that for a moment...

"Hey Max, can I ask you something? Something sort of personal?"

"... Okay."

Max's hesitation sprouts a frown throughout Victoria's forehead.

She takes a small unconscious step back, frowns and shakes her head. "Actually it's cool. Forget I even said anything."

"No, uh..." Max rubs the back of her neck. "Go ahead."

Victoria bites her lip as she releases a conflicted hum. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"How about if you make me uncomfortable, I tell you and we jump to another topic?"

"The goal's to stop _before_ we arrive at the corner of discomfort avenue where all the syphilis-infested hookers work, Max," Victoria says, duhing with her tone, which puts a chuckle in Max's belly and somewhat sets her at ease.

She shrugs. "Just ask."

"'Kay, so this is purely for clarification purposes," Victoria prefaces, throat rolling around a grave gulp that's at odds with her attempt at portraying poise.

"Okay."

"Okay, so what are you into? Like, boys, girls? Both?" A pained giggle. "Nineteen-forties Hollywood Glamour decor?"

 _Oh_.

This is it, Max tells herself, straightening up. The awkward moment where she shoots Victoria's romantic hopes between the eyes. "Both," she murmurs, awaiting the inevitable follow-up...

Which never comes.

Instead silence unfurls between them, wherein Victoria does this subtle little shoulder sway mannerism and smiles demure. "Cool," she breathes out. "Alright, so back to this car situation."

Max sighs quiet relief.

But it's short lived —

"If I'm to agree to your friend looking at your car, I'm gonna need to see some official paperwork from her," Victoria says with a shrug, already thinking up ways to sneak a real mechanic onto school grounds once Max is asleep.

"Official paperwork really isn't necessary."

"Neither is this poor excuse for a vehicle, but you're still happy to have it out here bludgeoning my eyesight. God, and you have like zero shame; I don't know whether to be impressed or disgusted. Well done."

"You realize I'm still gonna need to get around whilst waiting for my friend to come and look it over, right?"

"No," Victoria drawls, shaking her head like _nice try, kid_. "The deal was: you don't enter this monstrosity until a trained professional says it's safe to do so."

"I didn't agree to that."

 _I didn't agree to all these feelings but here we are, Max_ _!_

"Yeah well, I didn't agree to see Samuel's cockroach-infested butt crack that one time he was bent over pulling weeds, so we're even."

"Samuel?"

"Blackwell's resident janitor."

Max suddenly realizes what Victoria's just said. "Cockroach-infested? That bad?"

"I'm like, still in talks with the CIA about getting me that memory eraser."

The childhood memory of her parents collapsing that armchair in the midst of rigorous sex ambushes Max's mind.

She's sold.

"Wouldn't hurt to have one of those lying around."

 _If only they were real._

"Are you truly stood here angling for me to get you one too? Hell. No. Like, you're already _forcing_ me to pay for someone to look at your car!" Victoria huffs, much too melodramatic about it to be serious.

Max finds herself smirking.

When Victoria isn't on the defense, or rambling in nervous paragraphs, she's quick.

Witty.

Comical even.

And Max totally sees it — the depths to which such talents could be used to punish rather than amuse.

"Come on, Max," Victoria whines. "Let's hit this café already."

Max promises herself that no matter what she won't let Victoria pay for her car or lunch.

That's the only way she gets her feet to move.

Something changes once they're sat in the Lamborghini.

Victoria's gallant insistence on getting the passenger door for Max plays on both their minds.

But it's not that.

The air's charged with something not altogether unpleasant, but it's thick now that they're alone in an enclosed space, sharing oxygen with the pressure to acknowledge what happened that night — what's about to happen.

Max broaches it first. "How long do you think we'll be waiting for Nathan?"

Victoria smoothes down the hair at the nape of her neck, more self-comfort than anything else. "I don't know. Like I said, he's uh, late a lot."

Late, to Max, says no fucks given.

"He won't be if he understands the gravity of what he did."

Victoria's throat bobs on a dry swallow. "Are you — what are you gonna say to him?"

Max hasn't really thought about it. She's always relied upon the sentience of interactions to guide her, often feeling people out rather than dying on the hill of their words.

"I'm not sure. I want to, I guess, see where he's coming from — where he's at."

"Just know that if, that if he's late it doesn't mean he doesn't give a shit," Victoria warns, a pleading lilt to her voice. "But if he is, like, at least we have each other for company until he shows, right?"

Max's vague, "sure," lands heavy in Victoria's stomach.

 _ **Why**_ _would you say that? You practically had to force her into the car, dumbass._

She rolls her eyes at herself, sighing as she tugs the seat belt across her torso, because it couldn't be any clearer. Max is only enduring her to get to Nathan.

The second the engine rumbles to life, so does the stereo, every inch of the car frame thrumming as the crunk beat pulses through it.

Victoria's hand shoots out so fast that, to Max, it looks like she slaps the center console, which somehow results in the bass thumping harder.

"Are you kidding me?" comes Victoria's shrill disapproving hiss.

 _Next caller_

 _There's a hater on the line_

 _Let me block this bitch one more time (next caller)_

 _You made another page bitch that's fine_

 _'Cause I'ma block yo' ass one more time_

 _Next caller, bitch_

 _Stop calling, bitch_

 _'Cause you ain't talkin' 'bout nothin, bitch (about nothin)_

 _'Cause you ain't talkin' 'bout nothin, bitch (about nothin)_

 _Next caller_

"Dammit!" Victoria grunts, before she looks skyward and yells, "Gio, turn off the stereo!"

Immediate quiet ensues.

"Finally," she grumbles, cheeks flushed. "Sorry for, you know, almost deafening you."

Max notices how airy her body feels now that all that bass has stopped pummeling it.

She flexes her fingers experimentally. "It's fine. Who's Gio?"

"Oh he's, um, an AI system for cars."

Max thinks of every Black Mirror episode she's ever seen, ends up scanning the immaculate beige interior for holes that might indicate she's being watched.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Victoria notices Max's restless eyes.

"Are you uncomfortable? Lemme know if you want the air con on, or if you want me to heat your seat." She sees that Max's seat belt is compressing the fabric of her button down pretty hard. "Shit, I can totally adjust the seat belt if it's too tight. Just let me know and —"

"Hey," Max murmurs, chasing it with an easy-going smile. "Relax."

"I am. Relaxed. I am — I'm relaxed. Totally chillin'."

Max dips her neck into a series of slow nods. "Of course."

"Oh, you are just _way_ too smug and condescending right now."

"Not at all."

"Ugh. I sort of despise you, Max."

"Sounds like you still aren't relaxing."

"You want me to heat your seat or not? I still hate you though."

A quiet chuckle slips past Max's lips.

And just like that the thicknesses in the air dissipates.

At least it does until they're cruising alongside a _Chase Industries_ van and Max throws, "you didn't mention you were a Chase at the carnival," out there.

Victoria's gaze darts away from the road to Max, then back again. "I didn't have my bullet proof vest and I actually wanted you to like me."

She has a point, Max concedes. But, "bullet proof vest? Seriously?"

"Taser then."

"Aurora Creek isn't that bad, Victoria."

"Maybe not for you, Max. But you know as well as I do, it's not the friendliest place for a Chase. I was trying to get my carnival on, not get shanked 'cause my dad's demolition happy."

Demolition happy is one way to frame it.

Ruthless elitist bully is how Max frames it.

Ever since Chase Industries began tearing down Aurora Creek's staple youth centers, hospitals, and farmlands to erect superficial malls and uppity housing estates, there's been tension.

And there's been tension ever since Max can remember.

The latest?

 **Victor Chase Renders Hundreds Jobless!**

 **New Chase Space Gallery To Spark Culture Clash In Dilapidated Town!**

 **Mayor Candidate Promises To Sweep Out Aurora Creek's Homeless With Hostile Architecture!**

"You could've told me who you were. I wouldn't have shanked you. Chloe on the other hand..." Max teases, regretting it when Victoria leans her head into her window with a sulky thud; the car picking up speed.

She thrusts her palm out against the glove compartment to stable herself. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No you're good."

"Then can you maybe slow down before we hit a tree? I don't feel like dying today."

The car pulls back some.

"Thanks. What happened just then?"

"I accelerated. We went faster. Are you sure you've driven a vehicle before?"

"Only the beauty we left back on campus."

"Sorry to break it to ya Max, but even Voldemort's shitting all over that mess in the beauty department."

"If you don't tell me what I said, chances are I'll say something like it again. People aren't mind readers. We're responsible for teaching others how to treat us — what's acceptable and what isn't. Setting boundaries or not setting boundaries. So set yours."

The steady purr of the engine fills the ambiguous silence that follows.

"You are _so_ not what I thought," Victoria says after some time.

"Sounds ominous," Max quips.

Victoria shoots her a muted sideward smile. "Like, I thought you were this timid but not really, super introverted, non-confrontational, perhaps a little spineless —"

"Spineless? Wow," Max chuckles. "Says a lot that you were drawn to that."

"Okay, let me break this down for you 'cause _clearly_ you aren't getting it," Victoria enunciates with all the sass of a wrongfully accused black woman. "You could've been Hitler incarnate and I _still_ would've started eating right to maximize my chances of getting pregnant with your kid. 'Cause, you know, _look_ at you. For the record, you didn't exhibit any spineless traits the night we met. I just thought maybe you could be that way 'cause you were super nice and accommodating."

"Well, I'm not always so nice and accommodating."

"I'm noticing." Victoria grimaces right away, quickly adding, "not like, you know — that's not a bad thing. If anything..."

 _It's sexy as fuck_.

"If anything," Max prompts.

"If anything it's... yeah, it's refreshing. You're introverted but you're not all that meek. You actually don't give a shit."

Max frowns at that assessment. "I give a shit."

 _Probably more than I should at times._

"Not like that. I mean — or meant... Look, it's hard to explain. You're just, you're your own person. With a sturdy backbone, which I guess kinda makes sense given where you — no disrespect, but where you grew up. At the same time you care about people. I mean, you were great with that crying kid at the carnival. But you're not like this insufferable goody two shoes either. Make sense?"

"I feel like I should say no just to keep this badass biker image you have of me intact. What do you think?"

"See? _That_ right there! You, Max Caulfield, have a feisty streak. And let's call a spade a spade; you're definitely not afraid of a little confrontation. I mean you're... about to confront Nathan, and you wouldn't drop the Kate thing. But you do it Max style, you know?"

Max doesn't know what to say. So she keeps it simple.

"Thanks, I think."

"Fuck you, that was totally a compliment."

"What was eating at you back there?"

"Oh. Yeah no, it wasn't anything you said. Not directly. I was, I guess, just over talking about how my dad's fucked up choices affect me. Like, people are really out here reassuring me that they wouldn't stab me because of my family. Hashtag WTF?" Victoria looks to Max then. "Does it — are you bothered that I'm a Chase?"

Max considers Victoria's position, decides it's a shitty one.

She's under no illusions about the benefits Victoria enjoys as a Chase. Money, influence, connections. Power.

License to be unimaginably rude without consequence.

But even for those born with silver spoons in their mouths, there are costs not so easily paid.

Max imagines that, for Victoria, building real relationships is almost impossible — that those who flock to her do so to evade the line of fire, or gain access to Chase prestige by association.

 _"Another satisfied customer."_

Max is pretty sure Victoria knows it too.

And if what the Chase family project — that image is king — holds any water, Victoria's never coming out of the closet. Especially now that her father's running for mayor.

Her name. Chase. Her claim to significance and her curse.

Max blinks herself out of the horror that must be Victoria's life, says, "you aren't the one tearing towns down and destroying communities. Lineage doesn't have to matter. It's about what the individual chooses."

"Trés sage, Max, but the moment I do something you don't like you're gonna be like, didn't expect anything less from a Chase. Tell me I'm wrong."

"If you accidentally spill soda on me that's the first thing I'm gonna blame it on, yeah."

"Seriously, I don't even know why I like you," Victoria says, and she's chuckling. "You're an asshole."

"I'm just being realistic."

"If realism's the theme of the moment, your pals down in Aurora Creek sure don't see me as an individual. Neither do half the sycophants in Blackwell who'd secretly love to see me fall. What makes you so different?"

"I guess I'm my own person, like you said."

"Thanks Max."

"For what?"

"Just... thanks."

"You're welcome."

* * *

 **Thoughts are love :)**


End file.
